Title:  Landscape and Song

Author:  Various

Release Date:  December 10, 2004 [EBook #14320]

Language:  English

Character set encoding:  ASCII

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 [Illustration:  Landscape and song.]

[Handwritten note: 

To Annette
  from
    Uncle Tom.

Xmas 1887-
  Toronto, Canada.]

 [Illustration:  Landscape and song.]

 [Illustration]

  Landscape
     and
       Song.

  Selected
    and
  Arranged
    by
  E. Nesbit.

 [Illustration.]

London: 
Henry J. Drane & Co. 
Paternoster Row E.C.

New York:  E.P.  Dutton & Co.

[Illustration.]

I.

What dreams the flower cups enfold
  Within their fragrant leaves,
Of meadow-ways grown fair with spring,
  Soft mists that April weaves;
    And cottage gardens where the scent
    Of flowers is with the wood-smoke blent.

The ceaseless ripple of the brook,
  Babbling against the broken arch,
The little firwood’s tasselled spires,
  The cloud of verdure on the larch;
    The gold-green glimmer of the woods,
    Where tender twilight always broods.

C.  Brooke.

II.

There is dew for the flow’ret,
  And honey for the bee,
And bowers for the wild bird,
  And love for you and me.

There are tears for the many,
  And pleasures for the few,
But let the world pass on, dear,
  There’s love for me and you.

Hood.

[Illustration]

III.

The Rose in October.

O late and sweet, too sweet, too late! 
  What nightingale will sing to thee? 
  The empty nest, the shivering tree,
The dead leaves by the garden gate,
And cawing crows for thee will wait,
            O sweet and late!

Where wert thou when the soft June nights
  Were faint with perfume, glad with song? 
  Where wert thou when the days were long
And steeped in Summer’s young delights? 
What hopest thou now but checks and slights,
            Brief days, lone nights?

Stay, there’s a gleam of Winter wheat
  Far on the hill; down in the woods
  A very heaven of stillness broods;
And through the mellow sun’s worn heat,
Lo! tender pulses round thee beat,
            O late and sweet!

IV.

There’s beauty all around our paths, if but our watchful eyes
Can trace it midst familiar things and through their lowly guise;
We may find it when a hedgerow showers its blossoms o’er our way,
Or a cottage window sparkles forth in the last red light of day.