Ballade Made In The Hot Weather - To C. M.

Fountains that frisk and sprinkle     The moss they overspill;     Pools that the breezes crinkle;     The wheel beside the mill,     With its wet, weedy frill;     Wind-shadows in the wheat;     A water-cart in the street;     The fringe of foam that girds     An islet's ferneries;     A green sky's minor thirds -     To live, I think of these!     Of ice and glass the tinkle,     Pellucid, silver-shrill;     Peaches without a wrinkle;     Cherries and snow at will,     From china bowls that fill     The senses with a sweet     Incuriousness of heat;     A melon's dripping sherds;     Cream-clotted strawberries;     Dusk dairies set with curds -     To live, I think of these!     Vale-lily and periwinkle;     Wet stone-crop on the sill;     The look of leaves a-twinkle     With windlets clear and still;     The feel of a forest rill     That wimples fresh and fleet     About one's naked feet;     The muzzles of drinking herds;     Lush flags and bulrushes;     The chirp of rain-bound birds -     To live, I think of these!     Envoy     Dark aisles, new packs of cards,     Mermaidens' tails, cool swards,     Dawn dews and starlit seas,     White marbles, whiter words -     To live, I think of these!