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A Little Window

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Stars (At Locheven) Have you walked in the woodsWhen twilight wraps a veil of mistAround the gray-green treesIn early spring?It is then the snow-white trilliumGleam like stars from the carpetOf last year’s leaves:And tall white violets glowLike clouds of nebulæ along the path.And flecked, like points of lightIn the quiet pools of waterAmong the gray-green boles,Are the stars of heaven.

The Brook (Westfield, N. Y.) Curling and humming its cadences,It slips past me under the rim of the gorge,As I peer down through the scarlet sumacs.Sparkling in the sunlight,Shimmering in the moonlight,On and on it goes,A silvery sheet of song.

In Eden Valley I saw A spray of orange berries etched against the silver of a stone wall: A scarlet vine encircling a golden sapling; On the ground, a carmine robe that had slipped from the shoulders of a maple. A sweep of meadow,A curve of bronzy hill,A glow of ruby and amethystAnd the evergreens making deep quiet spots in it.

Benediction Silent, I stood in the forest—Lured by the liquid songOf a thrush.Clear, it was, then fadingAnd softly echoed,As he slipped into the embraceOf the night.So pure, so holy, was his songThat my heart was calmedAnd I was filledWith serenity.

A Moment The beaten silver waters cutBy the prow of our ship,Send off stars of phosphorousTo vie with the stars overhead.Nothing but sky and the starlight,And a stretch of limitless sea,Nothing but peace and dominion,—Silence, immensity.

The Month of Moonlight Moonlight is not cold!It is tender and benignant,Softening all it touches,Hiding the roughness,Covering the coarseness,With a glow of silver splendorAnd a lucent floodOf beauty.

Wings There come to the flowersIn my gardenButterflies, golden-spotted tawny,Blue-spangled and sulphur;Glistening dragon-flies, zooming bumble bees,Droning honey-bees. Softly whirring comesThe vivid humming-bird,Sipping, sipping all day long.At nightfall I hear the flutter of theLuna’s wings, asShe caresses the velvet cheekOf the lily.

Heart’s Ease (Locheven) I love to tread a winding pathThrough the woods,And, world weary, pause upon it.The trees bend and enclose meIn brooding calm;I feel the presence of Deity. I hear the cadence of the stillness—A stillness so alive.The whisper of the leaves,The song of the brook over golden stoneThe whir of a bird’s wings;And I know the presence of Deity.

The Sign Reads—“To Troutbeck” (English Lakes) An upcurving lane, hedged high,An ancient stile,A rambling path,A brook,And musk,—Golden bells of fragrance,Fusing all the odorsOf English earth.

I, Too Robin, robin,Shouting your song,Your throat swellingWith joy!Yes, I hear, I knowWhat you say.For I, too,Would singMy praise andGratitudeTo God!

In Early Evening When I drive throughThe villages and the countrysideIn early evening,And see people sitting in gardensOr at their doorsIn peace and contentment,I long to stop and speak to them....