Читать книгу The Garden of Dreams - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 6

With eyes hand-arched he looks into

The morning's face, then turns away

With schoolboy feet, all wet with dew,

Out for a holiday.

The hill brook sings, incessant stars,

Foam-fashioned, on its restless breast;

And where he wades its water-bars

Its song is happiest.

A comrade of the chinquapin,

He looks into its knotted eyes

And sees its heart; and, deep within,

Its soul that makes him wise.

The wood-thrush knows and follows him,

Who whistles up the birds and bees;

And 'round him all the perfumes swim

Of woodland loam and trees.

Where'er he pass the supple springs'

Foam-people sing the flowers awake;

And sappy lips of bark-clad things

Laugh ripe each fruited brake.

His touch is a companionship;

His word, an old authority:

He comes, a lyric at his lip,

Unstudied Poesy.