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1107

The Bird did prance—the Bee did play—
The Sun ran miles away
So blind with joy he could not choose
Between his Holiday

The morn was up—the meadows out
The Fences all but ran,
Republic of Delight, I thought
Where each is Citizen—

From Heavy laden Lands to thee
Were seas to cross to come
A Caspian were crowded—
Too near thou art for Fame—

Edited by Peter Carter

Added: 2 Apr 2003 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 4:36 PM | Viewed: 8034 times

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