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amid arms bear beauty beneath bird blood bloom blossoms blue bound breath bright bring brook brow calm clouds cold comes dark dead death deep dost dwell early earth eyes face fair fall fear fields flowers forest forms fresh gathered gaze gentle glad glorious glory gone grave green grew groves grow hand hast hear heart heaven hills hour land leaves light living look mighty morning mountain murmur never night o'er once pass path pure race rest rise river rocks round shade shalt shine side sight silent sleep smile soft song sound spirit spring stand stars stream strong summer sweet tears tell thee thine thou thou art thought till trees voice walk wandering watch waters waves weep wide wild wind wings woods young youth
Page 41 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?" Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 32 - Of the stern agony and shroud and pall And breathless darkness and the narrow house Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, Go forth under the open sky and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around — Earth and her waters and the depths of air — Comes a still voice...
Page 214 - Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare, and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.
Page 153 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Page 153 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Page 32 - Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice. Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more...
Page 32 - To HIM who, in the love of Nature, holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language : for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Page 207 - God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning from the...
Page 34 - Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 'Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.