June of the Conestoga
Within the shadow which the foliage throws
The drowsing cattle by thy waters dream;
The white arms of the trees above thee gleam,
And on thy slopes the ripening harvest glows;
From meadows of the hay the fragrance blows
Sweeter than all Arabia! ... What a theme
For revery thou art, O pastoral stream,
Idyllic in thy beauty and repose!
Nine arches hath thy bridge of classic mould —
One for each Muse — clear-mirrored on thy breas
Amid this quiet of the evening hours
Tranquil thou flowest toward yon waste of gold,
Where, shadowed 'gainst the fulgence of the West
The stately College lifts her clustered towers.
The drowsing cattle by thy waters dream;
The white arms of the trees above thee gleam,
And on thy slopes the ripening harvest glows;
From meadows of the hay the fragrance blows
Sweeter than all Arabia! ... What a theme
For revery thou art, O pastoral stream,
Idyllic in thy beauty and repose!
Nine arches hath thy bridge of classic mould —
One for each Muse — clear-mirrored on thy breas
Amid this quiet of the evening hours
Tranquil thou flowest toward yon waste of gold,
Where, shadowed 'gainst the fulgence of the West
The stately College lifts her clustered towers.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.