SEE’ST thou how o’er the mountains morning is ablaze:Hear’st thou beneath the hedge-row how the grass-midge sings?O come to me: Theocritus has filled my heart with lays,My soul is as a mead in rainbow colourings. What is it nigh my head doth sound?As though were flung a cymbal on the grassy ground.
Come, to the forest’s marge, amid the shade we fare,The world shall see its image mirrored in thine eyes,O come and feast thy gaze upon the wine-gold air,And on the dew that clad the buds in pearly guise. If, love, thou enviest the dower,More than thou know’st, the fern upon thy locks will shower.
Or wouldst thou vale-wards go, and see the tints of red,Decking the moss and leaves, and every ripening haw? Or art thou timid lest, ere thither we have sped,Chance haply will avail, my lips to thine to draw? Doth crimson on thy cheeks appear?A truce to berries, for thy lips are sweeter cheer!
Or shall we haply go together to the lake,That ’neath the dusky leaves of water-flowers is hid?Alder and willow-shades above the water shake,The dragon-fly dips wings of amethyst amid A fabled castle’s crystal dome.Thou too, the Naiads’ sister, findest there thy home!
Or lov’st thou more the corn-field with its billowy grain,Where echoing melodies of flies and crickets dart.Thou rovest with thy musings o’er the grassy plain. Or wouldst thou in the clover-field,Seek hours of joy, whose light is in thine eyes revealed?
Come, for the sun’s first splendour on the country falls,His sheen is in thy heart, like to a thread of gold,Entrust to him thy steps, and gain love’s heavenly halls,Where youth doth to thy lips its draught of nectar hold. What is it nigh my head doth sound?As though were flung a cymbal on the grassy ground?Eclogues and Songs (1880)
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