First Rhymes

In the meadow by the mill
  I'd make my ballad,
Tunes to that would whistle shrill
And beat the blackbird's ringing bill.—
But surely the innocent spring has died,
The sultry noon has hushed the bird,
The jingling word, the tune untried,
All in that meadow must have died.—
For that, the fuller speech of song
  Has charmed me,
And lulled my lonely hours along;
Though beauty's truth that leads to-day
  My longing trials
Shone then like dewdrops in my way,
When " Nature painted all things gay."