I.

'Mid wide green meadows, made more fair with flowers— Tall, golden lilies, swaying in the sun, Slight, clustering rue that web of silver spun— I lingered dreaming through the day’s first hours. About me men in work-day toil were bent, Swift levelling the daisies’ drift of snow, The clover’s purple sweetness laying low, And ripened grain whose summer life was spent. I sat where leafy trees a shadow wrought Amid the broad, warm sunshine of the plain, Where, undisturbed, poured forth the wood-birds’ strain And fancy’s magic played with every thought: A whole life centred in each daisy-round, And work-day toil seemed but a slumbrous sound.