Southern garland . y Matterhorn ! The nightingale, tha in the forest spent Her lovely soul in music for a lordOf empiry, distilling bland content, Threw all herself to thee as thou adored:She is not of the earth, and thou art free From low communion, like her quivering wingsThat ache for all despair that song can be— Th* impenetrable heart of sacred things. Through thee the lowliest do achieve renown, The unsought grace of solitude is theirs,But thou dost give such eremites a crown. From thee they take our happiness and tears;What if the violet lean athwart a stone. And hear but rivulet or nig
Southern garland . y Matterhorn ! The nightingale, tha in the forest spent Her lovely soul in music for a lordOf empiry, distilling bland content, Threw all herself to thee as thou adored:She is not of the earth, and thou art free From low communion, like her quivering wingsThat ache for all despair that song can be— Th* impenetrable heart of sacred things. Through thee the lowliest do achieve renown, The unsought grace of solitude is theirs,But thou dost give such eremites a crown. From thee they take our happiness and tears;What if the violet lean athwart a stone. And hear but rivulet or nightingale—Her secrecies surprised by thee alone Shall charm young hearts in immemorial tale. Wliat largesse of all magic! Does the bird Lament thee in her thicket ? Shall her noteFall where alone a stealthy leaf is stirred By sleeping castle in a sleepy moat,And never heart be there her song to tell. Nor any cunning weaver of her brain ?Shall we for ever watch the citadel. And never see the sanctuary again? SAINT HUBERT ^^ OMRADES, to the woodlands come! ^^^* ^^ Thrice afar the tasselled hornPours a souls elysium Thro the white wake of the morn. Thrice the buck has hearkened in the umber shades ; Thrice the gleby-wandering rillAnswers ere the bugle fades. Over yonder granite peak, Circled with a fleecy film,Leaps the glad suns flaming streak, Kissing all his verdured realm. Unpremeditated hymns Pour from feather-throated choirs,Every note with joy oerbrims. Every heart to soar aspires! Thrice afar the tasselled hornPours a souls elysium Through the white wake of the morn-Comrades, to the woodlands come ! ^ xliii. the DEAD! Ulcst lUind
Size: 1591px × 1570px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidsoutherngarl, bookyear1904
