Sonnets III

But deck the board — for hither comes a band
Of pure young spirits, fresh-arrayed in white,
Glistering against the newly risen light;
Over the green and dew-impearled land
Blithesomely tripping forward, hand in hand:
Deck ye the board — and let the guest be dight
In Gospel wedding-garment rich and bright,
And every bud that summer suns expand.
For you, ye humble ones, our thickets bloom:
Ye know the texture of each opening flower,
And which the sunshine, and which love the gloom.
The shrill of poised larks for many an hour
Ye watch; and all things gentle in your hearts
Have place, and play at call their tuneful parts.