THE grass is wet with shining dews, Their silver bells hang on each tree, While opening flower and bursting bud Breathe incense forth unceasingly; The mavis pipes in greenwood shaw, The throstle glads the spreading thorn, And cheerily the blythesome lark Salutes the rosy face of morn. 'Tis early prime; And hark! hark! hark! His merry chime Chirrups the lark: Chirrup! chirrup! he heralds in The jolly sun with matin hymn. Come, come, my love! and May-dews shake In pailfuls from each drooping bough; They'll give fresh lustre to the bloom, That breaks upon thy young cheek now. O'er hill and dale, o'er waste and wood, Aurora's smiles are streaming free; With earth it seems brave holyday, In heaven it looks high jubilee. And it is right, For mark, love, mark! How bathed in light Chirrups the lark: Chirrup! chirrup! he upward flies, Like holy thoughts to cloudless skies. They lack all heart who cannot feel The voice of heaven within them thrill, In summer morn when mounting high This merry minstrel sings his fill. Now let us seek yon bosky dell Where brightest wild-flowers choose to be, And where its clear stream murmurs on, Meet type of our love's purity; No witness there, And o'er us hark! High in the air Chirrups the larks: Chirrup! chirrup! away soars he, Bearing to heaven my vows to thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OLD MAN by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER SONNET: 66 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TO THE MEN OF KENT by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BLACK GIRL by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 44. ISEULT by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |