Beneath thy Midas touch life's sullen grays
Are thrilled to sudden gold; as some far gleam
From wings of Helios athwart thy dream
Irradiates for thee earth's darksome ways.
Wild woodland voices ripple thro’ thy lays;
Sweet silvern murmurs from some deep-delled spring,
Brook, tree and flower and each insensate thing,
The throstle's call, the calm of sun-steeped days,
A glint of sunshine on the swallow's wing,
Fern-filagrees, the drowsy drone of bee
Made drunk with draughts of purple wild-grape wine;
All these Orphèan music holds for thee,
And all thy days and dreams companioning
Walks Nature with her hand close-clasped in thine.