In the under-wood and the over-wood there is murmur and trill this day, For every bird is in lyric mood, And the wind will have its way.
Some must delve when the dawn is nigh;
Some must toil when the noonday beams;
But when might comes, and the soft winds sigh,
Every man is a King of Dreams.
Upon my lips the breath of song,
Within my heart a rhyme,
Howe’er time trips or lags along,
I keep abreast with time!
Mortals, while through the world you go,
Hope may succor and faith befriend,
Yet happy your hearts if you can but know,
Love awaits at the journey’s end!
And from the phlox and mignonette Rich attars drift on every hand; And when star-vestured twilight comes The pale moths weave a saraband. And crickets in the aisles of grass With their clear fifing pierce the hush; And somewhere you many hear anear The passion of the hermit thrush.
A bird in the boughs sang “June,”
And “June” hummed a bee
In a Bacchic glee
As he tumbled over and over
Drunk with the honey-dew.
To heal mine aching moods, Give me God’s virgin woods.
It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry, For the sun’s a big daffodil up in the sky, And when down the midnight the owl call to-whoo! Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too; Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb, So, merry my masters, it’s daffodil time.
O the wind is a faun in the spring time
When the ways are green for the tread of the May!
List! hark his lay!
Whist! mark his play!
Hear how gay!