English poem
Ii
by R. D. Blackmore (1825–1900)
When rivulets were loth to creep, Except unto the pillow moss, And distant lake, encurtained deep, Was but a silver thread across The eyes of sleep:
When nightingales, in the sycamore, Sang low and soft, as an echo dreaming; And slept the moon upon heaven's shore-- The tidal shore of heaven, beaming With lazuled ore:
When new-born earth was fain to lean In Summer's arms, recovering The unaccustomed toil of Spring, Why slept not Eve, their Queen?