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