Prynne, Pearls that were

Hope for help in the gallery
all in yel­low, all in yellow,
skim­ming to ride,
milk inside
all in yel­low, all in yellow.

But where is the music, the music
all on yon­der green hill ?
So tur­ning and twir­ling asunder
as to never be still ?

As to go for a dan­cer in yellow,
for to dance to the far brim,
all in yel­low, all in yel­low sliding
and rea­dy to come in.

In ages past the cover thickens,
clouds bank in the sky ;
the leaves go down, all in yellow
faring well, to pass by.