In the meadow by the mill <br />I'd make my ballad, <br />Tunes to that would whistle shrill <br />And beat the blackbird's ringing bill.— <br />But surely the innocent spring has died, <br />The sultry noon has hushed the bird, <br />The jingling word, the tune untried, <br />All in that meadow must have died.— <br />For that, the fuller speech of song <br />Has charmed me, <br />And lulled my lonely hours along; <br />Though beauty's truth that leads to-day <br />My longing trials <br />Shone then like dewdrops in my way, <br />When ' Nature painted all things gay.'<br /><br />Edmund Blunden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/first-rhymes/
