large/11091/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_38_stein_64kb_3
large/11091/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_38_stein_64kb
English
11091
Here, where all the air seems newly From the springs of life distilled, Every breath is like a beaker With rare, sparkling rapture filled! HERE WHERE ALL THE AIR SEEMS NEWLY FROM THE SPRINGS OF LIFE DISTILLED EVERY BREATH IS LIKE A BEAKER WITH RARE SPARKLING RAPTURE FILLED
, entrancing sense of rest Steals over me. _THE FISHER FOLK_ I know a little village Where fisher folk abide; The dark pine woods behind it, The southern sea beside. There rosy pink crape-myrtles In every dooryard grow, And through the glossy live-oaks The salt sea breezes blow. At break of day the fishers Sail out to sea to reap The harvest that they sowed not, The harvest of the deep. Then, when their nets are emptied, They set their sails for land, To heap the shining fishes Upon the shining sand. Where little barefoot children Await them, eager-eyed, And play the while with sea-shells Cast upward by the tide. And all seem so content there, From worldly care so free, I would that I could find it, This secret of the sea! _THE CACTUS LAND_ Land of strange, unearthly beauty, Tawny Desert, over me Thou hast cast the deep enchantment Of some subtile sorcery! These thine endless barren reaches Where no fruitful harvests grow, Unto some bring nameless heartache; But to me thou dost not so!  THE CACTUS LAND BY EVELING STEYNE READ FOR LIVER VOXTA ORG BY SILVESTER LAND LAND OF STRANGE UNEARTHLY BEAUTY TAWNY DESERT OVER ME THOU HAST CAST THE DEEP ENCHANTMENT OF SOME SUBTLE SORCERY THESE THINE ENDLESS BARREN REACHES WHERE NO FRUITFUL HARVESTS GROW UNTO SOME BRING NAMELESS HEARTACHE BUT TO ME THOU DOST NOT SO
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