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