I
Under the trees in the dell.
Here by the side of the stream,
Were it not pleasant to dream,
Were it not better to dwell?
Here is the blue of the sea,
Here is the green of the land,
Valley and meadow and sand,
Seabird and cricket and bee;
Cows in a field on the hill,
Farmyards a-fluster with pigs.
Blossoming birds on the twigs;
Cool, the old croon of the mill.
II
All day I watch the sun and rain
That come and go and come again,
The doubtful twilights, and, at dawn
And sunset, curtains half withdrawn
From open windows of the sky.
The birds sing and the seagulls cry
All day in many tongues; the bees
Hum in and out under the trees
Where the capped foxglove on his stem
Shakes all his bells and nods to them.
All day under the rain and sun
The hours go over one by one,
Brimmed up with delicate events
Of moth-flights and the birth of scents
And evening deaths of butterflies.
And I, withdrawn into my eyes
From the strict tedious world within,
Each day with joyous haste begin
To live a new day through, and then
Sleep, and then live it through again.
III
The woodpecker laughed as he sat on the bough,
This morning,
To give fair warning.
And the rain's in the valley now.
Look now and listen: I hear the noise
Of the thunder,
And deep down under
The sea's voice answer its voice.
All the leaves of the valley are glad,
And the birds too,
If they had words to,
Would tell of the joy they had.
Only you at the window, with rueful lips
Half pouting,
Stand dumb and doubting,
And drum with your finger-tips.
IV
When the bats begin to flit
And the cottage lamp is lit,
When the nightjar in his throat
Trills his soft and woody note,
Then the hour has come to nook
In a corner with a book:
Keats or Campion shall it be?
Nothing if not poetry.
Bee-like shall I seek for sweets
In the honeyed hedge of Keats?
Or with Campion on the wing
Flutter, poise, and perch, and sing?
Happy nightly to be found
With "blithe shades of underground,"
Or for a night-time to put on
The bright woes of Hyperion.
V
To live and die under a roof
Drives the brood of thoughts aloof;
To walk by night under the sky
Lets the birds of thought fly;
Thoughts that may not fly abroad
Rot like lilies in the road;
But the thoughts that fly too far
May singe their wings against a star.
VI
Leaves and grasses and the rill
That babbles by the water-mill;
Bramble, fern, and bulrushes.
Honeysuckle and honey-bees;
Summer rain and summer sun
By turns before the day is done;
Rainy laughter, twilight whirr,
The nighthawk and the woodpecker;
These and such as these delights
Attend upon our days and nights,
With the honey-heavy air,
Thatched slumber, cream, and country fare.
VII
Gold and blue of a sunset sky,
Bees that buzz with a sleepy tune,
A lowing cow and a cricket's cry,
Swallows flying across the moon.
Swallows flying across the moon,
The trees darken, the fields grow white;
Day is over, and night comes soon:
The wings are all gone into the night.
