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Robert Laurence Binyon - In Misty Blue
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In misty blue the lark is heard
 Above the silent homes of men;
 The bright--eyed thrush, the little wren,
 The yellow--billed sweet--voiced blackbird
 Mid sallow blossoms blond as curd
 Or silver oak boughs, carolling
 With happy throat from tree to tree,
 Sing into light this morn of spring
 That sang my dear love home to me.

 Be starry, buds of clustered white,
 Around the dark waves of her hair!
 The young fresh glory you prepare
 Is like my ever--fresh delight
 When she comes shining on my sight
 With meeting eyes, with such a cheek
 As colours fair like flushing tips
 Of shoots, and music ere she speak
 Lies in the wonder of her lips.

 Airs of the morning, breathe about
 Keen faint scents of the wild wood--side
 From thickets where primroses hide
 Mid the brown leaves of winter`s rout.
 Chestnut and willow, beacon out
 For joy of her, from far and nigh,
 Your English green on English hills:
 Above her head, song--quivering sky,
 And at her feet, the daffodils.

 Because she breathed, the world was more,
 And breath a finer soul to use,
 And life held lovelier hopes to choose:
 But O to--day my heart brims o`er,
 Earth glows as from a kindled core,
 Like shadows of diviner things
 Are hill and cloud and flower and tree--
 A splendour that is hers and spring`s,--
 The day my love came home to me.
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