Out in the yellow meadows, where the bee <br />Hums by us with the honey of the Spring, <br />And showers of sweet notes from the larks on wing, <br />Are dropping like a noon-dew, wander we. <br />Or is it now? or was it then? for now, <br />As then, the larks from running rings pour showers: <br />The golden foot of May is on the flowers, <br />And friendly shadows dance upon her brow. <br />What's this, when Nature swears there is no change <br />To challenge eyesight? Now, as then, the grace <br />Of heaven seems holding earth in its embrace. <br />Nor eyes, nor heart, has she to feel it strange? <br />Look, woman, in the West. There wilt thou see <br />An amber cradle near the sun's decline: <br />Within it, featured even in death divine, <br />Is lying a dead infant, slain by thee.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-love-xi-out-in-the-yellow-meadows/
