When autumn lights her crimson flame
What artist would not give his fame
To paint so rich and rare?
When winter robes the firs in white,
Resplendent in the morning light
What jewels tremble there!
What artist would not give his fame
To paint so rich and rare?
When winter robes the firs in white,
Resplendent in the morning light
What jewels tremble there!
How soft the wind of summer eves
That gently whispers in the leaves
Of lordly forest trees?
How wild the whirling tempest's breath
That wails the dirge of summer's death
In magic minor keys!
That gently whispers in the leaves
Of lordly forest trees?
How wild the whirling tempest's breath
That wails the dirge of summer's death
In magic minor keys!
Ah, Nature! wrap thy dreamy shade
About the life that thou hast made,
And let me slumber long!
Thine echoes softly, sweetly roll
Through hidden chambers of the soul,
And teach the poet song.
About the life that thou hast made,
And let me slumber long!
Thine echoes softly, sweetly roll
Through hidden chambers of the soul,
And teach the poet song.
WHERE DWELLS THE SPIRIT OF POESY?
Where dwells the gentle soul of poesy?
Upon the cloudy rifts of the rainbow skies,
Deep hidden in some maiden's love-lit eyes,
Or at the bottom of the rolling sea,
Far down in sunless caves of mystery?
Upon the cloudy rifts of the rainbow skies,
Deep hidden in some maiden's love-lit eyes,
Or at the bottom of the rolling sea,
Far down in sunless caves of mystery?
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