PRELUDE
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These
are the little songs
The wild sea children sang,
When the first gold arch of light
From rim to zenith sprang;
When
all the glad clean joys
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Of
being came to birth,
Out of the darkling womb
Of the morning of the earth.
And
these are the lyric songs
The earthborn children sing, |
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When
wild-wood laughter throngs
The shy bird-throats of spring;
When
there's not a joy of the heart
But flies like a flag unfurled,
And the swelling buds bring back
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The
April of the world.
These
are the April songs
The vernal children sing,
When the yellow pollen dust
Floats on the stream in spring; |
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When the swelling streams go down
Through the deep and grassy floors,
And the gold-fish and the turtle
Bask at their river doors.
And
these are the innocent songs
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The
forest children sing,
When the whippoorwill's unrest
Is a pulse in the heart of spring;
When
the dark of the frail new moon
Is a globe of dim sea green,
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And
no soul fears what its strange
Sea-memories may mean.
These
are the happy songs
The first sea children made,
When the red morning roused them
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In
the deep forest shade;
When
Hillborn said to Seaborn,
"Sweetheart, but thou art fair!"
And the shining silver sea-mist
Made moonstones in her hair. |
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These are the lilting songs
The dark sea children knew,
When the sands emerged, and the sea
Was a lotus of Indian blue;
When,
blossom by wind-blown blossom,
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Their
virginal zones undone,
The world was a wide sunflower
Turning her face to the sun.
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