Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/267

 The leaves caught gold across the sun, And where the bluest air begun, Thirsted for song to help the heat; As I to feel my lady’s feet Draw close before the day were done; Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.

In the mute August afternoon They trembled to some undertune Of music in the silver air; Great pleasure was it to be there Till green turned duskier and the moon Coloured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.

That August time it was delight To watch the red moons wane to white ’Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees; A sense of heavy harmonies Grew on the growth of patient night, More sweet than shapen music is.

But some three hours before the moon The air, still eager from the noon, Flagged after heat, not wholly dead; Against the stem I leant my head; The colour soothed me like a tune, Green leaves all round the gold and red.

I lay there till the warm smell grew More sharp, when flecks of yellow dew