OVER the land is April,
Over my heart a rose;
Over the high, brown mountain
The sound of singing goes.
AS swallows turning backward
When half-way o'er the sea,
At one word's trumpet summons
They came again to me -
FAREWELL, and when forth
I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles
Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles,
Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south,
O CHIEF director of the growing race,
Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace,
Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive
Before from labour I make haste to live?
Over the borders, a sin without pardon,
Breaking the branches and crawling below,
Out through the breach in the wall of the garden,
Down by the banks of the river we go.
When I am grown to man's estate
I shall be very proud and great,
Smooth it glides upon its travel,
Here a wimple, there a gleam--
O the clean gravel!
O the smooth stream!
All the names I know from nurse:
Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,
And the Lady Hollyhock.
TO what shall I compare her,
That is as fair as she?
For she is fairer - fairer
Than the sea.