At the full face of the forest lies our little town;
Do thou from thy lookout to heaven, O lory! come down.
Come, charge with thy challenge of colour our thoughts cool and thin,
Descend with the blood of the sunlight: O lory! come in.
The clouds are away, ’tis October, the glees have begun;
Thy breast has the valour of music, O passionate one!
The rhythm is thine, the beloved, the unreason of Spring;
How royal thy raiment! No sorrow is under thy wing.
O thou of intrepid apparel, thy song is thy gown;
Translate thy proud speech of the sunlight—O lory! come down.
