The Unknown Minstrel.
I sing of love, most delicate and pure,
Surely the crown of life! How slow and sweet
Its music! Shall the ecstasy endure,
Sunshine on wheat?
Where leads this gentle love? I see you sigh!
The Scythe is laid unto the Golden Grain:
A note of utter unreality
Usurps the strain.
I sing not of that other flame of hell