Sinopsis

Buds, pink and white, along the hedge Had opened one by one ; The meadow grass grown long and ripe ; The mowers' toil begun, The day she ed, with mien demure. Between me and the sun. Where, idly under cloudless skies, With cloudless heart I lay, Yet lacking something, knowing not What thing to wish or pray. Though soft the cuckoo's charm, and sweet The scent of new-mown hay ; — And there, with dreamy lids, I lounged. So still, the birds grew bold, And butterflies basked on the flowers With painted charms unrolled ; And sordid bees swept careless by With wealth of honey-gold ; —