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the glory by edward thomas - bart wolffe lyrics

the glory of the beauty of the morning, *
the cuckoo crying over the untouched dew;
the blackbird that has found it, and the dove
that tempts me on to something sweeter than love;
white clouds ranged even and fair as new*mown hay;
the heat, the stir, the sublime vacancy
of sky and meadow and forest and my own heart: *
the glory invites me, yet it leaves me scorning
all i can ever do, all i can be
beside the lovely of motion, shape, and hue
the happiness i fancy fit to dwell
in beauty’s presence. shall i now this day
begin to seek as far as heaven, as h*ll
wisdom or strength to match this beauty, start
and tread the pale dust pitted with small dark drops
in hope to find whatever it is i seek
hearkening to short*lived happy*seeming things
that we know naught of, in the hazel copse?
or must i be content with discontent
as larks and swallows are perhaps with wings?
and shall i ask at the day’s end once more
what beauty is, and what i can have meant
by happiness? and shall i let all go
glad, weary, or both? or shall i perhaps know
that i was happy oft and oft before
awhile forgetting how i am fast pent
how dreary*swift, with naught to travel to
is time? i cannot bite the day to the core

- bart wolffe lyrics

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