THE deep enchantment of the summer-tide Lay o'er the earth, and hill and valley dreamed, And all the trees with light were glorified, That through the half-transparent foliage gleamed. The sunbeams brightly pierced the deep-red beech, Kindling the sombre leaves to scarlet flame: Like half-articulate, melodious speech, | The thousand murmurs of the noonday came. All sounds were mingled in one dreamy tune; All joys were fused in one supreme delight: No hope, no fear, profaned that lustrous noon, Nor any dim forebodings of the night. It was a poet's paradise of rest, Where, for a season, heart and brain might sleep: Not now by passion and by thought possessed, Yet ripening golden grain, that they must reap. Grain to be harvested with anxious toil, Winnowed and crushed, till fullest worth be won: But first, in light and heat, the fruitful soil Receives the inspiration of the sun. And even night, with depth of mystic gloom, And even Autumn, with its slow decay, Bring no more solemn message than the bloom And joyful splendour of a summer day. To each grand thought, some beauteous form replies; The soul, exalted to its noblest height, Grows, like the pure, illimitable skies, The chosen home of Mystery and Light. |