large/11091/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_06_stein_64kb_3
large/11091/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_06_stein_64kb
English
11091
_ON HEARING THE BALLAD "ALLEN PERCY"_ A plaintive song, so strangely sweet and old, That all my soul within itself would fold And gently keep so quaint a melody, That like a bird's its notes of liquid gold Might oft repeat their sweetness unto me. FOR LIBER VOXTA ORG BY SYLVESTER LAND A PLAINTIVE SONG SO STRANGELY SWEET AND OLD THAT ALL MY SOUL WITHIN ITSELF WOULD FOLD AND GENTLY KEEP SO QUAINT A MELODY THAT LIKE A BIRD'S ITS NOTES OF LIQUID GOLD MIGHT OFT REPEAT THEIR SWEETNESS UNTO ME
 Is like none other anywhere, And, in my heart, I hold it true. Though, surely, what least loving eye Could wander up the river there, And see aught otherwise than I? Or could deny That yonder little glimpse is fair? The slender point of jutting land Where, faintly burgeoning anew With rounds of downy buds, there stand A score of water-willow trees In clustered tufts, and twinkling through, Across the stream, beside of these, A line of shining yellow light; And half in sight, And hidden half, upon the right, By wild red-sumac shrubberies, A windmill, rising tall and white, Slow turning in the breeze. And then beyond—but how express, What word in any tongue conveys The depth of dreamy tenderness That laps, and wraps, and overlays The far blue hills, And spills and fills The valleys with pale purple haze? O, what sweet syllables confess The glad heart-happiness that plays Through all my pulses as I gaze, And drink the beauty, past all praise— The old, immortal blessedness Of April days!   ON HEARING THE BALLAD ALLAN PERCY BY EVELING STEYNE READ 
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file
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