Page:The ascent of man by Blind, Mathilde.djvu/67

 All triumphant blasts of sound Lift you at one rhythmic bound From the thraldom of the ground. All the sweetness which the glowing Violets waft to west winds blowing, All the burning love-notes aching, Rills and thrills of rapture shaking Through the hearts that throb to breaking
 * Of the little nightingales;

Mellow murmuring waters streaming
 * Lakeward in long silver trails,

Crooning low while earth lies dreaming
 * To the moonlight-tangled vales;

Swish of rain on half-blown roses
 * Hoarding close their rich perfume,

Which the summer dawn uncloses
 * Sparkling in their morning bloom;

Convent peals o'er pastoral meadows,
 * Swinging through hay-scented air