MIDSUMMER DAYS.
Reading edition
I scent the ancient sward!
I feel it ’neath my tread!
The moss, the wiry nard,
And the harebells bend their head!
I see the foxgloves glow,
Where plow did never go;
And the streams, the streams once more,
Hurrying brightly o’er
Their sandy beds; they roll
With the joy of a living soul.
Ye know that wood-walk sweet,
Where we are wont to meet;
On either hand the knolls and swells
Are crimson with the heather-bells;
And the eye sees,
Mid distant trees,
Where moorland beauty dwells.