The first sweet wind of the summer
Is breathing upon my cheek,
And swaying the heads of the grasses
That throb with a wish to speak.
The spray is upon the hawthorn,
The leaf is out on the bough,
The light swift birds
Are singing sweet words
Where I am lying now.
My head is upon a primrose
My hand on a violet,
My foot has bent down a daisy—
It is looking up at me yet.
Two butterflies—one like snow-drift,
The other like blood, I trow—
Dip their fairy hues
In the earth's sweet dews,
Where I am lying now.
I turn away from the sunlight
That is falling soft and rife,
And I hear the angel's spreading
The miraculous network of life.
And still, as their hands are plying,
They murmur a tender vow—
From heaven to earth
It is one great birth—
Where I am lying now.
O, dweller within the city,
Come forth from its smoke and dust,
And, were it but one hour only,
Clean thy soul from its growing rust.
Here stretch thyself on this couch of grass,
With a hand upon thy brow,
And take a part,
With a poet's heart,
In the dreams I am dreaming now.