Whose star-blossoms run, |
Kiss, tremble, and shiver,
And roll into ultimate space, and are lost to man’s vision
for ever.
Come forth to the sound
Of the lightning lyre,
Ye valleys profound
As a man’s desire,
Ye woodlands bound
In the hills that are higher
Than even the note of a bird as it wings to the solar fire!
Ye fruits and corn,
Gold, rose, and green,
Vines purple-born,
Pearl-hidden sheen,
Trees waving in scorn
Of the grass between !
Come forth in your chorus, and chant the praise of your
mother and queen!
Ye trees many-fronded
That shake to the wind,
Green leaves that have sounded
My harp in your kind,
Light boughs that are rounded,
Grey tops that are shrined
In the tears of the heaven as they fall in the blackening
storm grown blind!
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