First Rhymes

In the meadow by the mill
I'd make my ballad,
Tunes to that would whistle shrill
And beat the blackbird's ringing bill.-
But surely the innocent spring has died,
The sultry noon has hushed the bird,
The jingling word, the tune untried,
All in that meadow must have died.-
For that, the fuller speech of song
Has charmed me,
And lulled my lonely hours along;
Though beauty's truth that leads to-day
My longing trials
Shone then like dewdrops in my way,
When ' Nature painted all things gay.'