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Forest scene.
Far floating o'er its limpid breast
The lily sends her petals fair,
And couched beside her regal crest
The balm-flower scents the drowsy air.
From spray and vine, o'er rocky ledge
Hang blossoms wild of scarlet dye,
And on the curved and sanded edge
The pink-lined shells, wave-polished, lie.
The lily sends her petals fair,
And couched beside her regal crest
The balm-flower scents the drowsy air.
From spray and vine, o'er rocky ledge
Hang blossoms wild of scarlet dye,
And on the curved and sanded edge
The pink-lined shells, wave-polished, lie.
There wakes no tone of idle mirth
Amid those shadows vast and dim,
But from the gentle lips of earth,
How soft and low her forest hymn!
How soft and low where stirs the wind
Through the dark arches of the wood,
Where, mass on mass, the boughs entwined,
Hang whispering o'er the chiming flood!
Amid those shadows vast and dim,
But from the gentle lips of earth,
How soft and low her forest hymn!
How soft and low where stirs the wind
Through the dark arches of the wood,
Where, mass on mass, the boughs entwined,
Hang whispering o'er the chiming flood!
When twilight skies look faintly down,
When noon lies hushed on leaf and spray,
When midnight casts her silver crown
Before the throne of god-like day,
When noon lies hushed on leaf and spray,
When midnight casts her silver crown
Before the throne of god-like day,
