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Themes and Variations
And breaths of nutty, wild perfume,
Salute us from the flowering broom.
I love this narrow, sandy road,
That idly gads o’er hill and vale,
Twisting where once a rivulet flowed,
With as many turns as a gossip's tale.
I love this shaky, creaking bridge,
And the willow leaning from the ridge,
Shaped like some green fountain playing,
And the twinkling windows of the farm,
Just where the woodland thraws an arm
To hear what the merry stream is saying.
Salute us from the flowering broom.
I love this narrow, sandy road,
That idly gads o’er hill and vale,
Twisting where once a rivulet flowed,
With as many turns as a gossip's tale.
I love this shaky, creaking bridge,
And the willow leaning from the ridge,
Shaped like some green fountain playing,
And the twinkling windows of the farm,
Just where the woodland thraws an arm
To hear what the merry stream is saying.
Stop the horses for a moment, high upon the breezy stair,
Looking over plain and upland, and the depth of summer air,
Watch the cloud and shadow sailing o’er the forest’s sombre breast,
Misty capes and snow-cliffs glimmer on the ranges to the west.
Hear the distant thunder rolling, surely ’tis the making tide,
Swinging all the blue Pacific on the harbours iron side.
Now the day grows grey and chill, but see, on yonder wooded fold,
Between the clouds a ray of sunshine slips, and writes a word in gold.
Looking over plain and upland, and the depth of summer air,
Watch the cloud and shadow sailing o’er the forest’s sombre breast,
Misty capes and snow-cliffs glimmer on the ranges to the west.
Hear the distant thunder rolling, surely ’tis the making tide,
Swinging all the blue Pacific on the harbours iron side.
Now the day grows grey and chill, but see, on yonder wooded fold,
Between the clouds a ray of sunshine slips, and writes a word in gold.