Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf/151

 But if I praised the busy town, He loved to rail against it still, For 'ground in yonder social mill We rub each other's angles down,

And merge' he said 'in form and gloss The picturesque of man and man.' We talk'd: the stream beneath us ran, The wine-flask lying couch'd in moss,

Or cool'd within the glooming wave And last, returning from afar, Before the crimson-circled star Had fall'n into her father's grave,

And brushing ankle-deep in flowers, We heard behind the woodbine veil The milk that bubbled in the pail, And buzzings of the honied hours.