Page:Poems and lyrics of the joy of earth.djvu/90

Rh Many swarms of wild bees descended on our fields:
 * Stately stood the wheatstalk with head bent high:

Big of heart we laboured at storing mighty yields,
 * Wool and corn, and clusters to make men cry!

Hand-like rushed the vintage; we strung the bellied skins
 * Plump, and at the sealing the Youth's voice rose:

Maidens clung in circle, on little fists their chins;
 * Gentle beasties through pushed a cold long nose.
 * God! of whom music
 * And song and blood are pure,
 * The day is never darkened
 * That had thee here obscure.