Clinton Scollard Quotes
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I sang the first green leaf upon the bough, the tiny kindling flame of emerald fire, the stir amid the roots of reeds, and how the sap will flush the briar
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And from the phlox and mignonette. Rich attars drift on every hand; And when star-vestured twilight comes, The pale moths weave a saraband. And crickets in the aisles of grass, With their clear fifing pierce the hush; And somewhere you many hear anear, The passion of the hermit thrush.
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Some must delve when the dawn is nigh; Some must toil when the noonday beams; But when might comes, and the soft winds sigh, Every man is a King of Dreams.
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Mortals, while through the world you go, Hope may succor and faith befriend, Yet happy your hearts if you can but know, Love awaits at the journey's end!
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In the under-wood and the over-wood there is murmur and trill this day, For every bird is in lyric mood, And the wind will have its way.
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Upon my lips the breath of song, Within my heart a rhyme, Howe'er time trips or lags along, I keep abreast with time!
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It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry, For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky, And when down the midnight the owl call to-whoo! Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too; Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb, So, merry my masters, it's daffodil time.
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A bird in the boughs sang "June," And "June" hummed a bee In a Bacchic glee As he tumbled over and over Drunk with the honey-dew.