As sweet as the look of a lover
Saluting the eyes of a maid,
That blossom to blue as the maid
Is ablush to the glances above her,
The sunshine is gilding the glade
And lifting the lark out of shade.
Sing therefore high praises, and therefore
Sing songs that are ancient as gold,
Of Earth in her garments of gold;
Nor ask of their meaning, nor wherefore
They charm as of yore, for behold!
The Earth is as fair as of old.
Sing songs of the pride of the mountains,
And songs of the strength of the
seas,
And the fountains that fall to the
seas
From the hands of the hills, and the fountains
That shine in the temples of trees,
In valleys of roses and bees.
Sing songs that are dreamy and tender,
Of slender Arabian palms,
And shadows that circle the
palms,
Where caravans, veiled from the splendor,
Are kneeling in blossoms and
balms,
In islands of infinite calms.
Barbaric, O Man, was thy runing
When mountains were stained
as with wine
By the dawning of Time, and
as wine
Were the seas, yet its echoes are crooning,
Achant in the gusty pine
And the pulse of the poet’s
line.
