I swing on as one in a dream—I swing.
Down the very hollows, I shout, I sing.
The world is gone like an empty word;
My body’s a bough in the wind,—my heart a bird.
—Edwin Markham.
IN BLOSSOM TIME.
Its O my heart, my heart,
To be out in the sun and sing,
To sing and shout in the fields about,
In the balm and blossoming.