GREEN PASTURES

HEN springing meads are freshly
dight,
And trees new-leafed throw scarce a
shadow,
The green earth shows no fairer sight
Than soft-eyed kine and blowing meadow.
Too calm for care, too slow for mirth,
Amid the shower, amid the gleam,
The great mild mother-creatures seem
Half-waking forms o’ the dreamy earth.

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