And golden bells and silver chimes
Ring up and down the sleepy times.
The morning mountains smoke like fires;
The sun spreads out his shining wires;
The mower in the half-mown lezza
Sips his tea and takes his pleasure.
Along the lane slow waggons amble.
The sad-eyed calves awake and gamble;
The foal that lay so sorrowful
Is playing in the grasses cool.