Whereon earth's voice made music; tree and stream
Lilting the same low lullaby again,
To coax the wind, who romped among the hills
All day—a tired child—to sleep and dream:
When through the moonlight of the locust-lane
She came, as spring comes through her daffodils.
III
White as a lily molded of Earth's milk
That eve the moon bloomed in a hyacinth sky;
Soft in the gleaming glens the wind went by,