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How silent are the song-filled nests
That crowd this drowsy tree—
How mute is every feathered breast
That swelled with melody!
And yet bright bead-like eyes declare
This hour is extacy.
Heart forth! as uncaged bird through air,
And mingle in the tide
Of blessed things that, lacking care,
Now full of beauty glide
Around thee, in their angel hues
Of joy and sinless pride.
Here, on this green bank that o'er-views
The far retreating glen,
Beneath the spreading beech-tree muse,
On all within thy ken;
For lovelier scene shall never break
On thy dimmed sight again.
Slow stealing from the tangled brake
That skirts the distant hill,
With noiseless hoof two bright fawns make
For yonder lapsing rill;
Meek children of the forest gloom,
Drink on and fear no ill!
