Page:Preludes, Meynell, 1875.djvu/87

Rh And is the June air laden with thee now,

Passing the summer-bough?

And is the dawn-wind on a lonely sea

Balmy with thoughts of thee?

To rock on daybreak winds dost thou rejoice,

As first on his strong voice

Whose radiant morning soul did give thee birth,

Gave thee to heaven and earth?

Or did each bird win one dear note of thee

To pipe eternally?

Art thou the secret of the small field-flowers

Nodding thy time for hours,

—Blown by the happy winds from hill to hill,

And such a secret still?

Or wert thou rapt awhile to other spheres

To gladden tenderer ears?

Doth music's soul contain thee, precious air,

Sleepest thou clasped there,

Until a time shall come for thee to start

Into some unborn heart?

Then wilt thou as the clouds of ages roll,

Thou migratory soul,