A Contrast

I wandered in a garden-square, By pathways walled with straight-clipt yew, And over-arched by jasmine fair, Wet with new-fallen dew. And all about the order'd beds Wandered the South wind's listless breath, Where roses droop'd their weary heads And lilies white as death. The heavy air was all-too sweet With perfume of unnumbered flowers, And dark wet mould beneath my feet Fresh-wet with recent showers. O'er the wide plain, with ne'er a hill, I heard a lonely swallow call, And I grew wear of the still Sad glamour of it all. I wandered on the lone moorside When Summer's fern was tinged with gold, And all around me, waste and wide, Spread sweeps of purple wold. A voiceful wind, instinct with life, Swept its wild harp's exultant strings, And all the scented air was rife With whir of cleaving wings. Above, fresh blue without a cloud, Below, blue plain and fertile vale, Around, the happy moorland, loud With stir of strong-wing'd gale. O perfect day without alloy! O song of breeze and wild bird's wing! It was an ecstasy of joy To be a living thing.