Ii

We hear you in the vines and berry-brambles, Along the unkempt lanes, among the weeds, Amid the shadeless meadows, gray with seeds, And by the wood, round which the rail-fence rambles, Sawing the sunlight with your sultry saw. Or,--like to tomboy truants, at their play With noisy mirth among the barn’s deep straw,-- You sing away the careless summer-day. O brier-like voice that clings in idleness To Summer’s drowsy dress.