Poems (Proctor)/The Song of Songs
THE SONG OF SONGS.
O the lark by Avon's side When the leas were wet with dew,Soaring heavenward, fain to hide In the far celestial blue!Light the wind of June went by; Rose the mist in sunny mazes;High o'er cloud and zephyr wingingTo the angels soared he, singingGolden-sweet,—then silently Dropped to rest amid the daisies.
How the building thrushes sung In gardens where the Limmat flows,Just as morning's gate outswung Flushing all the Alps with rose!How the chorus jubilant Floated over lake and river!Life was joy and earth was youngWhile those building thrushes sung;—Ah! their melody will haunt Zurich in my thought forever.
Lark and thrush, I love you well; But I heard a rarer song As a wild March evening fell Bleak New Hampshire's heights along.Trees were bare and brooks were still; On Kearsarge the snow was lying;One red cloud athwart the grayFaded, faded slow away,And the north wind down the hill Like the dirge of hope was sighing.
Hark! a robin in the elm Warbling notes so glad and free,Straight he brought a summer realm Over thousand leagues of sea!High he sang: "A truce to fear! Frost and storm are but the portalWe must pass ere June befall,And the Lord is love through all!"Lark and thrush, your lays are dear, But the robin's is immortal!