(English Lakes)
An upcurving lane, hedged high,
An ancient stile,
A rambling path,
A brook,
And musk,—
Golden bells of fragrance,
Fusing all the odors
Of English earth.
I, Too
Robin, robin,
Shouting your song,
Your throat swelling
With joy!
Yes, I hear, I know
What you say.
For I, too,
Would sing
My praise and
Gratitude
To God!
In Early Evening
When I drive through
The villages and the countryside
In early evening,
And see people sitting in gardens
Or at their doors
In peace and contentment,
I long to stop and speak to them.
They might tell me of a loved one
Doing some great work
In a big city,
Or of a deep sorrow,
And I might say a word
To help lighten it.
They might show me treasured china
Or a bit of lace, handmade;
Once some one did.
And I could talk with the children.
I long to do this,
But it always seems
That there is a hurry
To get to the next place.