Classic Poem

1

The morning tide is sweet and fair
The birds chirp loud in white thorn bushes
Sweet maiden let us take the air
Where runlets dribble through the rushes

2

I'll gaze upon thy happy face
Thy comely shape thy eye shall charm
As in the early spring we trace
The healthy breath of field and farm

3

There is music without ere a bird
There is bloom without ere a flower
For eolean winds we oft' have heard
And the grass blooms fresher every hour

4

The very rushes seem as flowers
That nod above the marshy grass
Through which the winds in summer hours
Whistle and winnow as they pass

5

The lark may leave the new ploughed land
And settle in another place
Yet poets see and understand
Sweet music in its russet face

6

And if we earnest look we see
The daisey bud in April hours
And all the buds in spring agree
That hopes are sweeter far than flowers