Not yet up the chimney-hollow
Was heard in the darkling night
The boom and whir of the swallow,
And the twitter that follows the flight;
Before the foamy whitening
Of the water below the mill;
Ere yet the summer lightning
Shone red at the edge of the hill;
In the time of sun and showers,
Of skies half black, half clear;
'Twixt melting snows and flowers;
At the poise of the flying year;
When woods flusht pink and yellow
In dreams of leafy June;
And days were keen or mellow
Like tones in a changing tune;
Before the birds had broken
Forth in their song divine,
O, then the word was spoken
That made my darling mine.
A MIDSUMMER SONG
O, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day,
And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay,
And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill,
While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will:
"Polly!—Polly!—The cows are in the corn!
O, where's Polly?"
