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MY GLADE IN THE WEST.
DROP the drained pen ere the song is complete, And sighing for solitude, silence, and rest,I mind me, with sighs, of a tranquil retreat,— A glade far removed, in the wilds of the West.Sleep, world-weary senses! afflict me no more; Too long has my soul by your fetters been weighed;Like the freed dove, unhooded, I flutter, I soar, My wings gather strength for their flight to my glade.
On I speed to the West: O ye forests of mine, I enter your soft summer-twilight of rest;Dumb with rapturous freedom, I sink, I recline On the dew-nurtured mosses, your lover and guest.
