To William Bell Scott - Sonnets
The larks are loud above our leagues of whin Now the suns perfume fills their glorious gold With odour like the colour: all the wold Is only light and song and wind wherein These twain are blent in one with shining din. And now your gift, a givers kingly-souled, Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old, Bids memorys note as loud and sweet begin. Though all but we from life be now gone forth Of that bright household in our joyous north Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end, First met your hand; yet under lifes clear dome, Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend, Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home.
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"The larks are loud above our leagues of whin..."
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