Of sunlit fields above the rocks, 

 Where the small waves lap in rhyme. 

 Of glancing maids and youths their peers, 

 For ever young and free, 

 With faces fair, and in their ears 

 Great music of the sea. 

 He sang the amber moon a-sail 

 In an even of misty blue, 

 The stars which burn, the stars which pale, 

 The might which holds them true; 

 The comets in another sky 

 Which sweep to an unknown morn. 

 He sang of some vast agony 

 Or ever a world was born. 

 He sang a song like a twanging bow, 

 His head was full of sound 

 As a dark night when winds are low 

 And a swell comes from the ground. 

 He sang a song like a joyous bird 

 In wooded places and hilly, 

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