Page:The Mystery of Choice - Chambers.djvu/299

Rh

And if the clouds with jealousy Should weep—we'll beg of some kind tree A moment's hospitality.

Good cheer is here, if you incline; Moss-hidden springs shall bubble wine While squirrels chuckle, rank on rank, And strawberries from every bank Shall blush to see how deep we drank.

Winds of the West shall cool our eyes While every woodland creature tries His voice a little, so that he May know his notes more perfectly When crickets start the symphony.

Through hazel glade and scented dell Where brooklets ring a tinkling bell, The forest orchestra shall swell, Until the sun-soaked grasses ring With crickets strumming string on string.

Then, with your white hand daintily Scarce touching mine, we'll leave our tree And ramble slowly toward the West Where our high castle's flaming crest, Towering behind the setting sun, Flings out its banners, one by one, Signals of fire, that day is done.