The Wood-Dove’s Note

Meadows with yellow cowslips all aglow,
Glory of sunshine on the uplands bare,
And faint and far, with sweet elusive flow,
The Wood-dove’s plaintive call,
‘O where! where! where!’

Straight with old Omar in the almond grove
From whitening boughs I breathe the odors rare
And hear the princess mourning for her love
With sad unwearied plaint,
‘O where! where! where!’

New madrigals in each soft pulsing throat –
New life upleaping to the brooding air –
Still the heart answers to that questing note,
‘Soul of the vanished years,
O where! where! where!’

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