And let its glory rest there till it charm

Forth from its womb, as flowers from the cold ground,

[Pg 19]

All lovely thoughts and high imaginings

That shed sweet perfume o'er the waste of life.

And when the sickle of autumnal time

Gathereth in the harvest of ripe thought,

Nourish and strengthen long futurity."

Then as an eagle fleeth to his crag

High in the stillness of the dim cloudland,

Fled I from man into the trackless woods,

To sate my soul with quietude and song.

Then, too, ye saw me, ye pure orbs of heaven,

And sent your blessed radiance to my heart

In the still twilight of my calm content!

Then came an answer to the unseen voice—

"O holy calmness of the inner soul!

Treasure of treasures! sweetness of all sense!

Athwart the smoothness of whose liquid tide

Floateth the spirit of eternal love,

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