Of downy breasts and throbbing wings,
O’er which the friendly elm tree heaves
An emerald roof with sculptured eaves.
Below, the noisy world drags by
In the old way, because it must;
The bride with heartbreak in her eye,
The mourner following hated dust;
Thy duty, winged flame of spring,
Is but to love, and fly, and sing.
O happy life, to soar and sway