And in the Silent Land his shade confest
That she, of all the seven, loved him best.
THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW.
Once more on the fallow hillside, as of old, I lie at rest
For an hour, while the sunshine trembles through the walnut-tree to the west,—
Shakes on the rocks and fragrant ferns, and the berry-bushes around;
And I watch, as of old, the cattle graze in the lower pasture-ground.
Of the Saxon months of blossom, when the merle and mavis sing,
And a dust of gold falls everywhere from the soft mid-summer’s wing,
I only know from my poets, or from pictures that hither come,