Restless, to-night, and ill at ease,
And finding every place too strait,
I leave the porch shut in with trees,
And wander through the garden-gate.
So dark at first, I have to feel
My way before me with my hands;
But soul-like fragrances...
Ah, june is here, but where is May?—
That lovely, shadowy thing,
Fair promiser of fairer day,
That made my fancy stretch her wing,
In hope-begetting spring.
The spaces vague, the luminous veil,
The drift of bloom and scent,
...
Jubilant the music through the fields a-ringing,—
Carol, warble, whistle, pipe,—endless ways of singing,
Oriole, bobolink, melody of thrushes,
Rustling trees, hum of bees, sudden little hushes,
Broken suddenly again—
Carol, whistle, rustle,...
