The linnet is nigh,
The lark's in the sky,
And singing and ringing
Are all the woods by.
Philip! Philip!
All night in the eaves,
I dream of the sheaves,
There's dew on the grasses
And bloom on the leaves.
Philip! Philip!
I know when the spring
Has ruffled her wing
By the joy in my soul;
Then louder I sing
Philip! Philip!
The snow and the rain
Have beaten in vain,
There'll be bushels of berries
And acres of grain.
Philip! Philip!
The thistle and reed
Both bloom to my need,
Earth stores to my harvest
And scatters my seed.
Philip! Philip!
Thus, though I am least
Of man and of beast,
Though poor in my state
I've enough, and a feast.
Philip! Philip!
Title photography by Richard Bradshaw
Poems index
Alphabetical list of poems online
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