Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/183



weary day rins down and dies, The weary night wears through: And never an hour is fair wi' flower, And never a flower wi' dew.

I would the day were night for me, I would the night were day: For then would I stand in my ain fair land, As now in dreams I may.

O lordly flow the Loire and Seine, And loud the dark Durance: But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne Than a' the fields of France;