THIS mountain-scene with sylvan grandeur crowned; These chestnut-woods, in summer verdure bright; These founts and rivulets, whose mingling sound Lulls every bosom to serene delight; Soft on these hills the sun's declining ray; This clime, where all is new; these murmuring seas; Flocks, to the fold that bend their lingering way; Light clouds, contending with the genial breeze; And all that Nature's lavish hands dispense, In gay luxuriance, charming every sense, Ne'er in thy absence, can delight my breast: Nought, without thee, my weary soul beguiles: And joy may beam yet, 'midst her brightest smiles, A secret grief is mine, that will not rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAILWAY TRAIN by EMILY DICKINSON THE MAYFLOWER [DECEMBER 21, 1620] by ERASTUS WOLCOTT ELLSWORTH A PRELUDE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE FARMER'S SOLILOQUY by ROBERT CHARLES O'HARA BENJAMIN EMPTY ROOM by NATHANIEL ANKETELL BENSON THE HEALERS by LAURENCE BINYON A QUARREL WITH LOVE by NICHOLAS BRETON |