Early Morning at Bargis

Clear air and grassy lea,   Stream-song and cattle-bell— Dear man, what fools are we   In prison-walls to dwell! To live our days apart   From green things and wide skies, And let the wistful heart   Be cut and crushed with lies! Bright peaks!—And suddenly   Light floods the placid dell, The grass-tops brush my knee: A good crop it will be,   So all is well! O man, what fools are we   In prison-walls to dwell!