Sonnet: - IV.
By Charles Sangster
The birds are singing merrily, and here
A squirrel claims the lordship of the woods,
And scolds me for intruding.At my feet
The tireless ants all silently proclaim
The dignity of labour.In my ear
The bee hums drowsily; from sweet to sweet
Careering, like a lover weak in aim.
I hear faint music in the solitudes;
A dreamlike melody that whispers peace
Imbues the calmy forest, and sweet rills
Of pensive feeling murmur through my brain,
Like ripplings of pure water down the hills
That slumber in the moonlight.Cease, oh, cease!
Some day my weary heart will coin these into pain.