Page:A midsummer holiday and other poems (IA midsummerholiday00swin).pdf/126

 Where orchards bask, where cornfields wave, They dropped like rains that cleanse and lave, And scattered all the year along, Like dewfall on an April grave, Sweet water from the well of song.

Ballad, go bear our prayer, and crave Pardon, because thy lowlier stave Can do this plea no right, but wrong. Ask nought beside thy pardon, save Sweet water from the well of song.