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THE SONG OF THE SOWER.
65
For even now I seem
To hear a sound that lightly rings
From murmuring harp and viol's strings,
s in a summer dream.
The welcome of the wedding guest,
The bridegrooom's look of bashful pride,
The faint smile of the pallid bride,
And bridemaid's blush at matron's jest,
And dance and song and generous dower
Are in the shining grains we shower.
VII.
Scatter the wheat for shipwrecked men,
Who, hunger-worn, rejoice again
In the sweet safety of the shore,
And wanderers, lost in woodlands drear,
Whose pulses bound with joy to hear
The herd's light bell ones more.
Freely the golden spray be shed
For him whose heart, when night comes down
On the close alleys of the town,
Is faint for lack of bread.
To hear a sound that lightly rings
From murmuring harp and viol's strings,
s in a summer dream.
The welcome of the wedding guest,
The bridegrooom's look of bashful pride,
The faint smile of the pallid bride,
And bridemaid's blush at matron's jest,
And dance and song and generous dower
Are in the shining grains we shower.
VII.
Scatter the wheat for shipwrecked men,
Who, hunger-worn, rejoice again
In the sweet safety of the shore,
And wanderers, lost in woodlands drear,
Whose pulses bound with joy to hear
The herd's light bell ones more.
Freely the golden spray be shed
For him whose heart, when night comes down
On the close alleys of the town,
Is faint for lack of bread.