Hymn To Death
Oh! could I hope the wise and pure in heart Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem My voice unworthy of the theme it tries, I would take up the hymn to
The Strange Lady
The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by, As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool dear sky; Young Albert, in the forest’s edge, has heard
June
I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, “Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, When brooks send up
October
Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s delicious breath! When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief And the year smiles as it draws near its
The Skies
Ay! gloriously thou standest there, Beautiful, boundless firmament! That swelling wide o’er earth and air, And round the horizon bent, With thy bright vault, and sapphire wall, Dost overhang and circle all. Far, far
To A Cloud
Beautiful cloud! with folds so soft and fair, Swimming in the pure quiet air! Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below Thy shadow o’er the vale moves slow; Where, midst their labour, pause the
A Forest Hymn
The groves were God’s first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them, – ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll
The Death of the Flowers
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
To a Waterfowl
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
The Living Lost
Matron! the children of whose love, Each to his grave, in youth have passed, And now the mould is heaped above The dearest and the last! Bride! who dost wear the widow’s veil Before
Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood
Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,
November
Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun! One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air, Ere, o’er the frozen earth, the loud winds ran, Or snows are sifted o’er the meadows bare. One smile