At Malvern

The winds behind me in the thicket sigh,

The bees fly droning on laborious wing,

Pink cloudlets scarcely float across the sky,

September stillness broods o'er ev'rything.

Deep peace is in my soul: I seem to hear

Catullus murmuring 'Let us live and love;

Suns rise and set and fill the rolling year

Which bears us deathward, therefore let us love;

Pour forth the wine of kisses, let them flow,

And let us drink our fill before we die.'

Hush! in the thicket still the breezes blow;

Pink cloudlets sail across the azure sky;

The bees warp lazily on laden wing;

Beauty and stillness brood o'er ev'rything.