Near Cannes

Here little birds fly low and fold
Al Their wings to stillness in the shade
Of lines of willow-trees, that hold
Sweet secrets in them unbetrayed;

Though sometimes in a dream of sound,
Half music and half sun, we hear
Ripples of water touch the ground.
And smell the lilies bending near.

Upon the fields the wanton sun
Lies with his yellow locks between
The poppy blooms that one by one
Steal blushing to him through the green.

And tenderest forget-me-nots
That e'er a lover honored yet
With glance made sweet by sweetest thoughts
Are softly in the grasses set.

And yonder by the gleaming road
Whose white feet pass the meadows by,
Mute in an awe-struck dream of God,
The poplars look up to the sky.