HAREBELL. 



Low adown the gracious meadow, dappled close with 



sun and shadow, 



Rounded soft by waving grasses, thro a hun 

 dred falling lines, 

 Drowsy as the noontide found her, with her ample 



robes around her, 

 Summer, lost in idle musing, at her ease reclines. 



Floating free in dell and hollow, ere the fleetfoot 



daisies follow, 

 Springing light where swoon the breezes, warm 



against her throbbing breast, 

 Pure and deep, yet swaying lowly to a rhythm 



sweet and holy, 



Myriad harebells meet and tremble o er her dream 

 less rest. 



High above the quiet valley, where she loves to 



droop and dally, 



All along the windy headlands, where the rock is 

 steep and bare, 



54 



