And fluffy quails entrap

Me from their brood that crouch to escape mishap.

Then I shall reach the mossy water-way

That gullies the dense hill up to its peak,

There dally listening to the eerie eke

Of drops into cool chalices of clay.

Then on, for elders odorously will steal

My senses till I climb up where they heal

The livid heat of its malingering ray,

And wooingly betray

To memory many a long-forgotten day.

There I shall rest within the woody peace

Of afternoon. The bending azure frothed

With silveryness, the sunny pastures swathed,

Fragrant with morn-mown clover and seed-fleece;

The hills where hung mists muse, and Silence calls

[Pg 43]

To Solitude thro' aged forest halls,

Will waft into me their mysterious ease,

And in the wind's soft cease

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