Songs of the Common Day, and Ave!

An Ode for the Shelley Centenary

by Charles G.D. Roberts




THESE are the fields of light, and laughing air,
     And yellow butterflies, and foraging bees,
     And whitish, wayward blossoms winged as these,
And pale green tangles like a seamaid's hair.
Pale, pale the blue, but pure beyond compare,
     And pale the sparkle of the far-off seas,
     A-shimmer like these fluttering slopes of peas,
And pale the open landscape everywhere.
From fence to fence a perfumed breath exhales
     O'er the bright pallor of the well-loved fields,—
My fields of Tantramar in summer-time;
     And, scorning the poor feed their pasture yields,
Up from the bushy lots the cattle climb,
     To gaze with longing through the grey, mossed rails.