In the Orchard

THE thick grass, and the blue, blue sky,
The clover and the timothy,
And, overhead, July ;
Bird echoes sounding faint and fine,
And your heart beating close to mine.

Slow whispers in the apple boughs
Of murmuring leaves a-drowse,
That passing breezes rouse ;
And flickering webs of silver, spun
By the white fingers of the sun.

Dim silences beneath the trees,
Lulled sometimes by the hum of bees
Afloat on summer seas ;
The dry air sparkling up like wine,
And your heart pulsing close to mine.

The sense of living, keen as pain,
When the tense heartstrings seem to strain
While golden moments wane ;
In near-by fields the song of birds,
And now no need nor wish for words.

Now nothing matters ; each for each
With the long lessons love can teach
Without or sound or speech ;
And soft winds blow, and far suns shine,
With your heart leaping, close to mine.