22 de julho de 2010
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too
While the barred clouds bloom the soft dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue,
'Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourne:
Hedge-crickets sing; and now woth treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.