The fields are full of little lakes,

And when the romping wind awakes

The water ruffles blue and shakes,

And the pines roar on the hill.

The crows go by, a noisy throng;

About the meadows all day long

The shore-lark drops his brittle song;

And up the leafless tree

The nut-hatch runs, and nods, and clings;

The bluebird dips with flashing wings,

The robin flutes, the sparrow sings,

And the swallows float and flee.

I break the spirit's cloudy bands,

A wanderer in enchanted lands,

I feel the sun upon my hands;

[9]

And far from care and strife

The broad earth bids me forth. I rise

With lifted brow and upward eyes.

I bathe my spirit in blue skies,

 Prev. P 6/70 next