Song of the Summer Winds

George Darley (1795–1846)

UP the dale and down the bourne,

O’er the meadow swift we fly;

Now we sing, and now we mourn,

Now we whistle, now we sigh.

By the grassy-fringèd river,

Through the murmuring reeds we sweep;

Mid the lily-leaves we quiver,

To their very hearts we creep.

Now the maiden rose is blushing

At the frolic things we say,

While aside her cheek we ’re rushing,

Like some truant bees at play.

Through the blooming graves we rustle,

Kissing every bud we pass,—

As we did it in the bustle,

Scarcely knowing how it was.

Down the glen, across the mountain,

O’er the yellow heath we roam,

Whirling round about the fountain,

Till its little breakers foam.

Bending down the weeping willows,

While our vesper hymn we sigh;

Then unto our rosy pillows

On our weary wings we hie.

There of idlenesses dreaming,

Scarce from waking we refrain,

Moments long as ages deeming

Till we ’re at our play again.