About the flowerless land adventurous bees Pickeering hum; the rooks debate, divide, With many a hoarse aside, In solemn conclave on the budding trees; Larks in the skies and ploughboys o'er the leas Carol as if winter had never been; The very owl comes out to greet the sun; Rivers high hearted run; And hedges mantle with a flush of green. The curlew calls me where the salt winds blow; His troubled note dwells mournfully and dies; Then the long echo cries Deep in my heart. Ah, surely I must go! For there the tides, moon-haunted, ebb and flow; And there the seaboard murmurs resonant; The waves their interwoven fugue repeat And brooding surges beat A slow, melodious, continual chant. |