AS in their flight the birds of song

Halt here and there in sweet and sunny dales,

But halt not overlong;

The time one rural song to sing

They pause; then following bounteous gales

Steer forward on the wing:

Sun-servers they, from first to last,

Upon the sun they wait

To ride the sailing blast.

So he awhile in our contested state,

Awhile abode, not longer, for his Sun —

Mother we say, no tenderer name we know —

With whose diviner glow

His early days had shone,

Now to withdraw her radiance had begun.

Or lest a wrong I say, not she withdrew,

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