Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/209

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As I lean upon the sill;
And their murmur makes a feeling
That on earth hath no revealing,
But that sleepeth in my bosom
Mute and eloquent and still,
And their touch upon my forehead
Wakes a strangely pleasant thrill.

Where the topmost boughs are swinging,
And the waving leaves are singing
One low song of love forever
To the azure up on high,
Does my soul delight to hover,
With the cool leaves for a cover,
Resting in a swaying cradle,
Looking up into the sky!
With a motion soft as music
Swaying in the tree-top high!

O how blest is my wild spirit.
When no earthly thought is near it,
As it lies 'mid dreams and visions
In the arms of the old tree!
All the whispering leaflets bless it.
And the wild wind doth caress it.
And the soft and dreamy azure
Can my spirit only see;
And that seems to grow and deepen
Into strange infinity.

But there is a solemn hour
When the tree hath wilder power—
In the deep and starry midnight,
When I sit and watch the sky—
When the foliage moans and shivers.
And the starlight o'er it quivers,
And the shadows creep and tremble
O'er the casement where they lie—