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.