Such tiny blooms of blue and gold are fair
within the fields. They seem as sweet as dreams
of sun that glints on seas, with liquid gleams
that hint of tincts of gold. Surely the rare
beautiful blossoms sing the season's air--
beauty is beauty, beauty seldom seems
but's fair. Beauty is truth, as also dreams,
as tiny blooms of blue and golden flair.
Beautiful blooms, beautiful seas, you sing
delightful chansons, songs of light and pleasure
as, distance-dimmed, the belfries lightly ring--
for beauty sing, and never out of duty,
of blooms and seas, and sweet, delightful treasures:
they sing to sway and woo your heart with beauty.

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