To--
Down through the Alps, immortal, standing high
Whose feathers are the clouds of passing days
And whose sweet bosoms touch the milky sky
And whose faint breaths birth thick and gentle haze;
Upon the hills and valleys, laced with white
And brushed by bonnets of the passing clouds
There is beneath the mounts, a lovely sight:
Which please all mortal eyes: soft daisy crowds.
Of all unearthly, flowery June treasure
Of all the decors and bouquets of spring
Perchance, the fairest, by all equal measure
Yon daisies, in the moist glades, lingering
And there where such soft blossoms dance and play
Are you and I upon a summer day
© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov
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