As sweet as the look of a
Saluting the eyes of a
That blossom to blue as the
Is ablush to the glances above her,
The sunshine is gilding the
And lifting the lark out of shade.
Sing therefore high praises, and
Sing songs that are ancient as gold,
Of earth in her garments of gold;
Nor ask of their meaning, nor
They charm as of yore, for behold!
The Earth is as fair as of old.
Sing songs of the pride of the mountains,
And songs of the strength of the seas,
And the fountains that fall to the
From the hands of the hills, and the
That shine in the temples of trees,
In valleys of roses and bees.
Sing songs that are dreamy and tender,
Of slender Arabian palms,
And shadows that circle the palms,
Where caravans out of the splendor,
Are kneeling in blossoms and balms,
In islands of infinite calms.
Barbaric,
O Man, was thy
When mountains were stained as with
By the dawning of Time, and as
Were the seas, yet its echoes are crooning,
Achant in the gusty
And the pulse of the poet's line.
