Much more do I prefer the sweet singing of birds in the woods and quaint bluebells in their hoods…

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T’is dawn
And here I stand on this hill
The world stretched out below me.
I hear its wakenings still
But those dull murmurings hold naught for me,
Rather intrude upon quiet musings.
———————————————————
Much more do I prefer
The sweet singing of birds in the woods
And quaint bluebells in their hoods
Lingering in hollows
Where lonely sentinels stood
Centuries ago.
———————————————————-
In Hawthorn’s Wood
The ferns whisper greenly
Against boulders grainy
Along ancient cedar paths;
And butterflies dance on the wing
While unfettered things
Frolic midst fairy rings.
———————————————————-
So, now, tarry awhile
I will
On this hill
In concert with all my heart doth know;
Though betimes
I must return
To the cut and thrust below.
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