Out-of-Doors

What came ye out for to seek, O Maker of Words? The color of grass in the sunshine, the music of birds; And what shall ye do when ye find them, O Singer of Songs? Weave a bright fabric of beauty, and give it to whom it belongs; Weave a gay fabric of music, to lay at the feet of mankind, All purple and gold for the sense, all golden and gray for the mind? This came I out for to seek—the daffodil’s gold, The magic of buds all unfolding, the treasure untold That lies in the heart of the forest, the moss and the leaves, The jewel of flowers in the thicket, that no eye perceives; And these will I weave into music, these will I fashion to words, The wind in the grass and the rushes, the dawn-song of birds.