The day is most fair, the cheery wind Halloos behind the hill, Where he bends the wood as seemeth good And the sapling to his will. Riot O wind! There is that in my blood Which would not have you still. She gave me herself O Earth! O sky! Grey Sea! She is mine alone! Let the sullen boulders hear my cry And rejoice though they be but stone! Mine—I have won her O good brown Earth! Make merry, tis hard on Spring Make merry, for she is doubly worth All worship your fields can bring. Let the hind that tills you feel your mirth At the early harrowing. Staid beasts of the plough in the river fields I have won her, rejoice ye kine! I have taken the best Creation yields O River, the maid is mine! Poplar, and beech, and thorn, and fir Woods where God's altar lies— Rejoice! I have won the heart of her I have got for myself the prize. The winds shall tell you and ye shall stir With human sympathies. Red cloud of the Sunset tell it abroad— I am victor. Greet me O Sun. Dominant master and absolute Lord Over the heart of one.'