Читать книгу The Triumph of Music, and Other Lyrics - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 18

Ah, God! were I away, away,

By woodland-belted hills!

There might be more in Thy bright day

Than my poor spirit thrills.

The elder coppice, banks of blooms,

The spice-wood brush, the field

Of tumbled clover, and perfumes

Hot, weedy pastures yield.

The old rail-fence whose angles hold

Bright briar and sassafras,

Sweet priceless wild flowers blue and gold

Starred through the moss and grass.

The ragged path that winds unto

Lone cow-behaunted nooks,

Through brambles to the shade and dew

Of rocks and woody brooks.

To see the minnows turn and gleam

White sparkling bellies, all

Shoot in gray schools adown the stream

Let but a dead leaf fall.

The buoyant pleasure and delight

Of floating feathered seeds.

Capricious wanderers soft and white

Born of silk-bearing weeds.

Ah, God! were I away, away,

Among wild woods and birds!

There were more soul within Thy day

Than one might bless with words.