| A cloudless sky, a world of heather, | |
| Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom; | |
| We two among them wading together, | |
Shaking out honey, treading perfume.
| Crowds of bees are giddy with clover, | 5 | | Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet | | | Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, | | Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
Jean Ingelow |
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