Aye, and tickle o’ streams-thread through Summer’s noon;
Arock o’ hum o’ hearts-throb,
And danced awhite the air at scorch;
Winter’s rage asing o’ cold
And wail o’ Winter’s sorry at the Summer’s leave;
Ashivered breeze, abear o’ leaf’s rustling
At dry o’ season’s ripe;
Night’s deep, where sound astarteth silence;
Morn’s sweet, awooed by bird’s coax.
Earth’s sounds, ye deem?