Dropping in and out of the shadows,

Sprinkling his music about the meadows,

Whistles and little checks and coos,

And the tinkle of glassy bells;

Into the dim woods full of the tombs

Of the dead trees soft in their sepulchres,

Where the pensive throats of the shy birds hidden,

Pipe to us strangely entering unbidden,

And tenderly still in the tremulous glooms

The trilliums scatter their white-winged stars;

Up to the hills where our tired hearts rest,

Loosen, and halt, and regather their dreams;

Up to the hills, where the winds restore us,

Clearing our eyes to the beauty before us,

Earth with the glory of life on her breast,

Earth with the gleam of her cities and streams.

[Pg 21]

Here we shall commune with her and no other;

Care and the battle of life shall cease;

Men her degenerate children behind us,

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