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THE FLUTE-PLAYER
Her flute's clear solo greets the maiden day —
Above the waking of melodious May,
Its notes are like a trellised flight of flowers.
The chirping birds whose orchestra of bills
Accompanies rain—the tea-rose best distills —
And then the smell of earth between the showers!
From garden bright, in drops of crystal gown'd,
I hear the breezes make a leafy sound
Through vibrant buzz of flies that seek the shade—
… And wonder whether—as sweet noon reposes—
The roses make the air, the air the roses
Within the house kept cooler than a glade.
Against the wall, upon the sunny side,
Their fruitful branches fixed and crucified,
The pear-trees stretch out arms in martyred line—
— 21 —
