The vale ne’er seemed so deep before,
Nor yet so high the hill.
An awful sense of quietness,
A fulness of repose,
Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns,
The silent garden rows.
As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse
Heard far across a plain,
A nearer knowledge of great thoughts
Thrills vaguely through my brain.
I lean my head upon my arm,
My heart’s too full to think;
Like the roar of seas, upon my heart
Doth the morning stillness sink.
And to the road and riverbedAnd the green, nodding reeds, I saidMine ignorant and last farewell:Now with content at home I dwell,And now divide my sluggish lifeBetwixt my verses and my wife:In vain; for when the lamp is litAnd by the laughing fire I sit,Still with the tattered atlas spreadInterminable roads I tread.
Upon the mirror of a poolForever quiet, clear and cool;And in the wayward glass, appearsTo hover between smiles and tears,Elfin and human, airy and true,And backed by the reflected blue.
This book of mine should blossom stillA perfect garden-ground of verse.White placid marble gods should keepGood watch in every shadowy lawn;And from clean, easy-breathing sleepThe birds should waken me at dawn.– A fairy garden; – none the lessThroughout these gracious paths of mineAll day there should be free accessFor stricken hearts and lives that pine;And…
I see the people marching by,As plain as day before my eye.Armies and emperor and kings,All carrying different kinds of things,And marching in so grand a way,You never saw the like by day.So fine a show was never seenAt the great circus on the green;For every kind of beast and manIs marching in that caravan.As…
Window robins, winter rooks,And the picture story-books.Water now is turned to stoneNurse and I can walk upon;Still we find the flowing brooksIn the picture story-books.All the pretty things put by,Wait upon the children’s eye,Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,In the picture story-books.We may see how all things areSeas and cities, near and far,And the flying…
The only wealth I have:Just as they are, to you.I speak the truth in soberness, and sayI had rather bring a light to your clear eyes,Had rather hear you praiseThis bosomful of songsThan that the whole, hard world with one consent,In one continuous chorus of applausePoured forth for me and mineThe homage of ripe praise.I…
