T’is dawn
And here I stand on this hill
The world stretched out below me.
I hear its wakenings still
But those dull murmurings hold naught for me,
Rather intrude upon quiet musings.
Much more do I prefer
The sweet singing of birds in the woods
And quaint bluebells in their hoods
Lingering in hollows
Where lonely sentinels stood
Centuries ago.
In Hawthorn’s Wood
The ferns whisper greenly
Against boulders grainy
Along ancient cedar paths;
And butterflies dance on the wing
While unfettered things
Frolic midst fairy rings.
So, now, tarry awhile
I will
On this hill
In concert with all my heart doth know;
Though betimes
I must return
To the cut and thrust below.
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