At four o'clock
The sun like a herdsman spills
For drove and flock

Peace with their provender,
And they are fed.
The day without a stir
Lies warm and red.

Ah, sir, the summer land
For me! That is
Like living in God's hand,
Compared to this.

His smile so quiet and deep
Reminds me of it.
I see it in my sleep,
And so I love it.

An anarchist, say some;
But tush, say I,
When a man's heart is plumb,
Can his life be awry?

Better than charity
And bigger too,
That heart. You've seen the sea?
Of course. To you

'T is common enough, no doubt.