Wind In The Treetops.And a cloud-dappled bit of blue sky With a bird swift across it flight winging, Are all I can see, as I lie In my narrow white bed__but the wonder, The glory, the beauty__are there, And I feel like a bird in its aerie, A prince of the kingdom of air. Treetops, and wind in the treetops, And moonshine, so mystic and pale, That the eye of some star far above it Peers soft through a gossamer veil; And far down the shadowy distance A sleepy bird chirps in its dream 'Til out 'neath the star-powdered heavens Afloat on swift pinions I seem. Out, out in the mist and the moonshine, Out, out o'er the slumbering world, On, on to the end of the darkness Where the banners of dawn are unfurled; 'Til See, gleaming forth from night's window One great red-gold lamp of the sky, While along the gray east, serried cloud banks Wind-routed, tumultuously fly. "Treetops, and wind in the treetops!" You say__and you pity me so__ Pity m__before whom such a pageant E'er passes so grandly arid slow. 'Til I smile in my pain, and forgetting The poor ailing body's control, See treetops, and wind in the treetops And myself an emancipate soul __Louisa Cooke Don-Carlos |
