Hand in hand, with swinging pails, The milkmaid and her swain, Listening to the nightingales, Come along the lane. Few the things they think to say As the day departs -- But the wild-bird sings his way Straight into their hearts. Yonder west the sunset dies, All its wealth of gold Yellowing both earth and skies, More than skies can hold. Naught he says, nor she to him, Inarticulate -- But they hear the cherubim Sing at heaven's gate. In the east now Luna sweet Shows her lovely face, And the earth and heaven meet In the old embrace. Just two children of the land Down among the farms -- But in wordless joy they stand In each other's arms. |