Читать книгу The Witch Maid, and Other Verses - Dorothea Mackellar - Страница 7

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"SUMER IS ICUMEN IN"

Table of Contents

The beautiful old simple songs

That make us laugh and cry,

That sing of dying loveliness

In words that cannot die:

Of how the singer's love was sweet

Or how she was unkind,

And how her lips were red that now

Are dust upon the wind:

Of how the fields were gold in May

With daffodils a-row,

And all the birds made holiday

Six hundred years ago:—

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These, when the beauty of the spring

Clad in this alien dress

Turns like a sharp sword in our hearts

For utter loveliness,

And joy and sorrow intermixed

Run tingling through our veins—

These bring more peace and comfort still

Than newer, subtler strains.

Oh, quarrion for missel-thrush

And rosewood bloom for may!

The things the nameless singer saw

Are what we see to-day.

The grass is just as green to-day,

The distant hill as blue,

The birds are just as glad as then,

The lovers just as true;

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And Alisoun is dead long syne

With him that called her fair,

But love is just as sweet and fresh

When spring is in the air;

And though I must perforce be dumb

Who have no skill to sing,

I am as deep in love, in love,

As is the year in spring!

Australia.