I could have lengthened out one fleeting hour
Into an age—sitting at set of sun
Under the long low open shed, where won
The mellow evening light through leaf and flower;
Playing the hostess in that summer bower
To such dear guests, whilst rose the antique song,
By those young sister voices poured along,
So wild, so pure, so clear, full of sweet power,
Ringing and vibrating.
It was a lay
That sent a smile into the very heart:
As when the early lark shoots up in May
With his blithe matins, rarer than all art
Save this. O happiest and most fleeting day,
Why art thou gone so soon?—Why must we part?
(Mary Russell Mitford)
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