Back to the golden marshes Comes summer at full tide, But not the golden comrade Who was the summer's pride.
O my dear, the world to-day Is more lovely than a dream! Magic hints from far away Haunt the woodland, and the stream Murmurs in his rocky bed Things that never can be said.
Starry dogwood is in flower, Gleaming through the mystic woods. It is beauty's perfect hour In the wild spring solitudes. Now the orchards in full blow Shed their petals white as snow.
All the air is honey-sweet With the lilacs white and red, Where the blossoming branches meet In an arbor overhead. And the laden cherry trees Murmur with the hum of bees.
All the earth is fairy green, And the sunlight filmy gold, Full of ecstasies unseen, Full of mysteries untold. Who would not be out-of-door, Now the spring is here once more!
The fireflies across the dusk Are flashing signals through the gloom-- Courageous messengers of light That dare immensities of doom.
About the seeding meadow-grass, Like busy watchmen in the street, They come and go, they turn and pass, Lighting the way for Beauty's feet.
Or up they float on viewless wings To twinkle high among the trees, And rival with soft glimmerings The shining of the Pleiades.
The stars that wheel above the hill Are not more wonderful to see, Nor the great tasks that they fulfill More needed in eternity.
It winds along the headlands Above the open sea-- The lonely moorland footpath That leads to Sankoty.
The crooning sea spreads sailless And gray to the world's rim, Where hang the reeking fog-banks Primordial and dim.
There fret the ceaseless currents, And the eternal tide Chafes over hidden shallows Where the white horses ride.
The wistful fragrant moorlands Whose smile bids panic cease, Lie treeless and cloud-shadowed In grave and lonely peace.
Across their flowering bosom, From the far end of day Blow clean the great soft moor-winds All sweet with rose and bay.
A world as large and simple As first emerged for man, Cleared for the human drama, Before the play began.
O well the soul must treasure The calm that sets it free-- The vast and tender skyline, The sea-turn's wizardry,
Solace of swaying grasses, The friendship of sweet-fern-- And in the world's confusion Remembering, must yearn