Now jolly-hearted Summer reigns
On the clover-tinted field,
And the golden-lettered blooming plains
The honey-harvest yield;
The rose-wreath, dropping on the bough,
Gleams red against the vine,
And the crimson honey-suckles blow
Round the fresh young eglantine.
O the sunny gleam
Of the meadow hour!
To dream, dream, dream
On the soul of a crystal flower.
The sun burns from the blue-lined hill
And burns the sweating air,
His burning atoms see, to fill
The valley everywhere;
And to my whirlèd brain mounts up,
Like a drunken draught of wine,
The blood-rich soul of the roses' cup
And the heavy eglantine.
O the sunny gleam
Of the meadow hour!
To dream, dream, dream
On the soul of a crystal flower.
The emerald of the dew-fed grass
Fades red and harvest-brown;
The mild-eyed cuckoo emblems pass,
And the hawthorn flutters down;
But richer than the richest cup
Of the dear-carousing vine
The flaming soul is rearing up
Of the rose and eglantine.
O the sunny gleam
Of the meadow hour!
To dream, dream, dream
On the soul of a crystal flower.
The sun is like a furnace fire,
And ample as a shield;
And the furnace of my soul's desire
Burns redder than the field;
And round, round, round,
Deep-clustered like the vine
Is my dear heart-empire bound
With the rose-sweet eglantine.
O the sunny gleam
Of the meadow hour!
To dream, dream, dream
On the soul of a crystal flower.
Let the round world shoot and pass
With its sorrow and its sin,
Like a shattered globe of glass,
And the latter fear begin;
For ever, ever, ever,
As the crimson-flowing wine,
Thou wilt blossom, O my soul!
With the rose and eglantine.
O the sunny gleam
Of the meadow hour!
To dream, dream, dream
On the soul of a crystal flower.
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