Labor and the Angel

by Duncan Campbell Scott

Now while the wind

From the reflowering bush gushes with perfume,

Thou hast a vision of a precinct fair,

Daled in the lustrous hills, where the mossed dial

Holds the slow shadow narrowed to a line;

Where a parterre of tulips hoards the light,

Changeless and pure in cups of tranquil gold;

Where bee-hives gray against the poplar shade,

Peopled with bees, hum in perpetual drone;

In a pavilion centred in the close,