The Paysanne in the City.

I pine to hear the breeze of spring1
Make the young leaves its lute ;2
I pine to see the fruit-trees fling3
Their blossoms at my foot.4
I long to see the eglantine5
Enwreathe the hedge-row wild,6
Ev’n as a mother’s arms entwine7
Her bright and happy child.8
I long to lift the violet’s leaf,9
To pluck the primrose pale,10
And odours, delicate as brief,11
With the fresh breeze inhale.12
The mountain-rill that leaps along,13
As bounds a frolic boy,14
Filling the quiet air with song,15
A thing of life and joy ;—16
The bloom upon the distant hill,17
The silver mists of morn,18
When shall I greet them, and be still ;19
Behold, and cease to mourn ?20
Though splendour all around I see,21
The pomp of palace-bowers,22
I miss the murmur of the bee,23
His matins mid the flowers !24
A thousand lamps make noon of night,25
Their radiance streams afar ;26
The crescent-moon sheds lovelier light,27
And Evening’s single star.28
Love, pleasure, peace, whilst here I roam,29
May only come and part ;30
O bear me to my sunny home,31
And they will reach my heart !32