His words are the birds and the runlets,
His bed is the dream-woven sod;
How gladly we honor his scepter,
And bow to his blossomy rod!
2/4
His bed is the dream-woven sod;
How gladly we honor his scepter,
And bow to his blossomy rod!
2/4
Comments
Cringe never, nor humble your knees.
But come with your lips tuned to singing,
And love in your heart for the trees.
3/4
How easy to fill his behest!
The tribute of courtier is silence,
The service of minion is—rest.
4/4