LOTUS LAND

The sultry noon is amorous for rain;

The golden bee, the lily’s paramour,

Sleeps in the lily-bell, which doth allure

And bind its lovers with a honied chain;

How still it is! no passionate note of pain

Comes from the tawny songstress of the brake,

And in the polished mirror of the lake

My purple mountains see themselves again.

O sad, and sweet, and silent! surely here

A man might dwell apart from troublous fear,

Watching the bounteous seasons as they go

From lusty spring to winter; – Yet you say

That there is War in Europe on this day?

Red War and Ravenous? Can this be so!

Illaunroe