The Birds and the Flowers

    The Lark¹， sitting upon his earthy bed， just as the morn

    Appears， listens silent； then， springing from the waving corn-field， loud

    He leads the Choir² of Day —— trill！ trill！ trill！ trill！

    Mounting upon the wings of light into the great Expanse，

    Re-echoing against the lovely blue and shining heavenly Shell；

    His little throat labours with inspiration； every feather

    On throat and breast and wings vibrates with the effluence Divine

    All Nature listens silent to him， and the awful Sun

    Stands still upon the mountain looking on this little Bird

    With eyes of soft humility³ and wonder， love and awe⁴.

    Then loud from their green covert⁵ all the Birds begin their song：

    The Thrush， the Linnet and the Goldfinch， Robin⁶ and the Wren⁷

    Awake the Sun from his sweet revery upon the mountain：

    The Nightingale again assays⁸ his song， and thro' the day

    And thro' the night warbles luxuriant； every Bird of song

    Attending his loud harmony with admiration⁹ and love.

    This is a Vision of the lamentation¹⁰ of Beulah over Ololon.

    Thou perceivest the Flowers put forth¹¹ their precious Odours；

    And none can tell how from so small a centre comes such sweet，

    Forgetting that within that centre Eternity¹² expands

    Its ever-during doors， that Og and Anak fiercely guard.

    First， ere the morning breaks， joy opens in the flowery bosoms¹³，

    Joy even to tears， which the Sun rising dries： first the Wild Thyme

    And Meadow-sweet， downy and soft， waving among the reeds，

    Light springing on the air， lead the sweet dance； they wake

    The Honeysuckle sleeping on the oak； the flaunting¹⁴ beauty

    Revels¹⁵ along upon the wind； the White-thorn， lovely May，

    Opens her many lovely eyes； listening the Rose still sleeps ——

    None dare to wake her； soon she bursts her crimson-curtain'd bed

    And comes forth in the majesty¹⁶ of beauty. Every Flower，

    The Pink， the Jessamine， the Wallflower， the Carnation¹⁷.

    The Jonquil， the mild Lily opes her heavens； every Tree

    And Flower and Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable dance，

    Yet all in order sweet and lovely. Men are sick with love！

    Such is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.