Be these the burden of our runes: Sheer artistry of prairie moons. The fabled Fleece, in golden grain; Staccato music, made of rain. The blithesome gurgle of the rills That slip between the sunlit hills, Where songsters on frail sapplings swing To vocalize the Ides of Spring. Warm, wooing sun, and cleansing wind— Tried therapeutics of the mind. The moving curtain of the rains That, bit by bit, obscures the plains Where grateful grasses sweetly raise Their mute encomiums of praise .... All Nature's store-house greets our needs, When we essay our winged steeds. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18. THE CHARM by THOMAS CAMPION LIFE [AND THE FLOWERS] by GEORGE HERBERT A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 47. THE CARPENTER'S SON by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN AT A SOLEMN MUSIC by JOHN MILTON TIPPERARY: 5. BY OUR OWN EUGENE FIELD by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |