AH! the budding of the orchard Is a heralding of June; Of the woodlark's brighter bosom, And the clearness of his tune. Hid by thorny quick, the sparrow Tends her sapphire eggs in peace Till the voice of every oval Sounds the chirping of release. And the grass beside the river Grows the long cool green of joy For the man who hears it whisper How he frolicked when a boy. Ah! the budding of the orchard Is a promise to my hope Of again beholding twilight Lose the lambs upon the slope. I shall see the cowshed mosses, And the milkmaid's freckled arms; I shall hear the horse-bells tinkle, And the cocks approve the farms. And the evening air will bring me, As it brings the soul of musk, A belief that long-lost angels Are returning through the dusk. |