This poem was first published in Songs in Wiltshire (1909).
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Now jolly-hearted Summer reigns
   On the clover-tinted field,
And the golden-lettered blooming plains
   The honey-harvest yield;
The rose-wreath, dropping on the bough,
   Gleams red against the vine,
And the crimson honey-suckles blow
   Round the fresh young eglantine.

      O the sunny gleam
         Of the meadow hour!
      To dream, dream, dream
         On the soul of a crystal flower.

The sun burns from the blue-lined hill
   And burns the sweating air,
His burning atoms see, to fill
   The valley everywhere;
And to my whirlèd brain mounts up,
   Like a drunken draught of wine,
The blood-rich soul of the roses' cup
   And the heavy eglantine.
      O the sunny gleam
         Of the meadow hour!
      To dream, dream, dream
         On the soul of a crystal flower.

The emerald of the dew-fed grass
   Fades red and harvest-brown;
The mild-eyed cuckoo emblems pass,
   And the hawthorn flutters down;
But richer than the richest cup
   Of the dear-carousing vine
The flaming soul is rearing up
   Of the rose and eglantine.

      O the sunny gleam
         Of the meadow hour!
      To dream, dream, dream
         On the soul of a crystal flower.

The sun is like a furnace fire,
   And ample as a shield;
And the furnace of my soul's desire
   Burns redder than the field;
And round, round, round,
   Deep-clustered like the vine
Is my dear heart-empire bound
   With the rose-sweet eglantine.

      O the sunny gleam
         Of the meadow hour!
      To dream, dream, dream
         On the soul of a crystal flower.

Let the round world shoot and pass
   With its sorrow and its sin,
Like a shattered globe of glass,
   And the latter fear begin;
For ever, ever, ever,
   As the crimson-flowing wine,
Thou wilt blossom, O my soul!
   With the rose and eglantine.

      O the sunny gleam
         Of the meadow hour!
      To dream, dream, dream
         On the soul of a crystal flower.


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