Sonnet-Iv

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.