It’s O my heart, my heart,
To be out in the sun and sing-
To sing and shout in the fields about,
In the balm and the blossoming!
Sing loud, O bird in the tree;
O bird, sing loud in the sky,
And honey-bees, blacken the clover-beds—
There are none of you glad as I.
The leaves laugh low in the wind,
Laugh low, with the wind at play;
And the odorous call of the flowers all
Entices my soul away.
For O but the world is fair, is fair-
And O but the world is sweet!
I will out in the gold of the blossoming mould
And sit at the Master’s feet.
And th’ love my heart would speak
I will fold in the lily’s rim,
That the lips of the blossom, more pure and meek,
May offer it up to Him.
Then sing in the hedgerow green, O Thrush,
O Sky lark, sing in the blue;
Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear,
And my soul shall sing with you!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem