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All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep :
All heaven and earth are still: from the high host
Of stars, to the lullid lake and mountain-coast,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
In solitude, where we are least alone ;
The soul and source of music, which makes known Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm,
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,
His altar the high places, and the peak
A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek
The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, Upreard of human hauds. Come, and compare
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, With nature's realms of worship, earth and air ; Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer!
The Alps at Daybreak. THE sunbeams streak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain's brow;
And chase the roebuck through the snow.
Up craggy steeps and ridges.rude,
From desert cave or hanging wood.
And as the echoing cliffs reply,
Perch'd like an eagle's nest on high.
Night Storm on the Alps. THE sky is changed !-and such a change ! Oh, night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder: Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now bath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her wisty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! And this is in the night: Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! Let me be
A portion of the tempest and of thee!
And now again 'tis black, and now, the glee
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be
Things that have made me watchful; the far roll
Of your departing voices is the knoll
But where of ye, 0 tempests ! is the goal ?
Waiting for the May-
Scent the dewy way.
Ah! my heart is sick with longing,
Longing for the May-
To the summer's day.
Longing for the May.
Sighing for the May-
All the winter lay.
Sighing for the May.
Throbbing for the May-
Glide the streams away.
Throbbing for the May.
Waiting for the May.
Life still ebbs away:
An April Day.
Their garner'd fulness down;
Hill, valley, grove, and town.
To break the calm of nature, Nor motion, I might almost say,
Of life, or living creature;
Of waving bough, or warbling bird,
Or cattle faintly lowing:
The leaves and blossoms growing.
The rain's continuous sound,
Down straight into the ground,
For leafy thickness is not yet
Earth's naked breast to screen, Though every dripping branch is set
With shoots of tender green.
Those honeysuckle buds
Hath put forth larger studs ;
The milk-white flowers revealing;
Methinks their sweets are stealing.
Is all with fragrance rife;
Are flushing into life.
Those earth-rejoicing drops !
Then thins, decreases, stops;
Have circled out of sight,
Breaks forth, of amber light.
Comes down the glittering rain ; The farewell of a passing cloud, The fringes of her train.
Approach of Spring, Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream; But the warm sun thaws the benumbèd earth, And makes it tender; gives a second birth To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee. Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring In triumph to the world the youthful Spring: The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array, Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May.
The swallow, for a moment seen,
Fraught with a transient frozen shower
On every blooming tree,
Out o'er the grassy lea.
Aloft on dewy wing;