And fiom my window frame,
This oriel window opening on the sky,
I see the white barques of the clouds drift by.
With prows of rosy flame.
Fantastical and strange.
Their puiple sails go floating o'er the deep.
Like shadows through the summer land of siccp,

In never ending change.
The wild shy things which roam
The woods, and live in bough and tree and grot.
\



THE WOODS IN JUNE.
X25



Flutter and chirp unscared, they fear me not,
For I too am at home.
And feel my heart in tune
With the great heart of Nature, and the voice
Of all the glad bright creatures that rejoice

In the green woods of June,



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*



126 TME ISLE OF SLEEP.
THE ISLE OF SLEEP.
Li those dark mornings, deep in June,

When brooding birds stir in the nest.
And heavy dews slip down the leaves.
And drop into the rose's breast,
I woke and looked into the east,

And saw no sim of cominff day ;
The pale cold morning rolled in Lt.
Slept on the hill-tops far away.
My window looked into the dawn,

The slumbering dawn that was so nigh,
The shadow of the hills was drawn

In waving lines against the sky.
But warmer hues began to tip

The edges of the mountain cloud
And morning's rosy cheek and lip

Glowed softly through her snow-pale shroud.
I turned and gazed into the west.
The river murmured in my ear
* Gone night, and silence, dreams and rest,
Another day of toil is here.'



THE ISLE OF SLEEP. 127

I would I had a fairy boat,

With every swift bright sail unf urled.
To fly beyond the west, and float

With night into the under world.
