Schwartz Wald I sought at dawn for the sweet whi… In hiding among the blue, The earth was warm with the summer… The flowers still damp with dew.

Oh! my valley of shade and dreams! Golden lights 'mid the distant blu… Sun that pauses to kiss the dew, Dew that trembles beneath its beam… Fain were I but a bird above,

The clustering grapes of purple vi… Are crushed to make the crimson wi… The poppies in the grasses deep Are crushed to brew the draught of… The roses, when their glories bloo…

Oh! that the night were passed, an… Made lovely by the joy of spring, Would flood these sombre clouds wi… Oh! that some hopeful bird would s… And in his tiny feathered throat

The hillside green with bracken. And the red plough land, The brownish hurrying rivers, Where the willows stand. The thickets and the meadows.

Bredon is a lonesome hill, It hasn’t any brothers ; It stands within the Severn vale, Apart from all the others. The Cotswold Hills go hand in han…

Give me your hands to hold, For the night and the wind are col… And the year ‘s growing sad and ol… So give me your hands to hold. Give me your lips to press,

In the meadows by the Avon, Underneath the slope of Bredon, There we often used to wander, My girl and I. All around the thrushes singing.

Set my hands upon the plough. My feet upon the sod ; Turn my face towards the east, And praise be to God! Every year the rains do fall,

There are two happy birds in the t… There are two happy stars in the s… There are two happy waves in the s… There are two happy clouds driftin… There are two happy mortals, since…

I stood beside you in the dark, And felt the magic of the night Steal o’er my senses, 'til they sw… And mists of passion dimmed my sig… The stillness made me dumb, those…

This valley now in sun, and now in… Is like the musings of your tender… That pauses, bathed in joy, yet ha… To look before, and then to gaze b… Along the fragrant meadows slowly…

O Italy of chiming bells, Of pilgrim shrines and holy wells, Of incense mist and secret prayers… Profound and sweet as scented airs Blown from a field of lily flowers…

I saw a row of hollyhocks, Demure and stately-tall, They peep’d above a hedge of box, Like maidens in brocaded frocks, Who nodded one and all.

At close of June’s most burning d… We took a ship and sailed away: In mid-Potomac stream sailed we. To Old Point Comfort by the sea. The heavy hanging air of dusk