The Great War

from Poems, an electronic edition

A Wood Song

Now one and all, you Roses,

Wake up, you lie too long!

This very morning closes

The Nightingale his song;

Each from its olive chamber

His babies every one

This very morning clamber

Into the shining sun.

You Slug-a-beds and Simples,

Why will you so delay!

Dears, doff your olive wimples,

And listen while you may.

Reason has moons, but moons not hers,

Lie mirror'd on the sea,

Confounding her astronomers.

But, O! delighting me.

Babylon -- where I go dreaming

When I weary of to-day,

Weary of a world grown grey.

God loves an idle rainbow,

No less than labouring seas.