A SUMMER AIR

The Database of Ornament

                                    O WAVING trees
                                        And waving wind
                                    And waving seas
                                        And waving mind—
                                    Where, far and wide,
                                        Am I to roam
                                    To find my bride,
                                        To reach my home?

                                    My soul is my Bride:
                                        Ah, whither fled?
                                    She hath not died,
                                        Nor am I dead:
                                    But somehow, somewhere,
                                        A song she heard.
                                    And she flashed thro’ the air
                                        A sunfire bird.

                                    My bride, she is
                                        Where the rainbows are;
                                    Sweet, sweet her kiss
                                        Awaits afar:

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                                    My goal is where
                                        The sea-waves meet
                                    The Sands of Youth
                                        Stirred by her feet.

                                    O waving leaves,
                                        O waving grass,
                                    My heart grieves
                                        That it may not pass.
                                    ‘Summer is fleet,
                                        Summer is long,’—
                                    I know not, Sweet,
                                        ‘Tis an empty Song.

                                    Where, far and wide,
                                        Across what foam,
                                    On what strange tide,
                                        Shall I be come?
                                    Meet me, O Bride,
                                        Where, lost, I roam:
                                    Leap to my side
                                        And lead me home!

                                                                FIONA MACLEOD.