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MY GLADE IN THE WEST.
DROP the drained pen ere the song is complete,And sighing for solitude, silence, and rest,
I mind me, with sighs, of a tranquil retreat,—
A glade far removed, in the wilds of the West.
Sleep, world-weary senses! afflict me no more;
Too long has my soul by your fetters been weighed;
Like the freed dove, unhooded, I flutter, I soar,
My wings gather strength for their flight to my glade.
Too long has my soul by your fetters been weighed;
Like the freed dove, unhooded, I flutter, I soar,
My wings gather strength for their flight to my glade.
On I speed to the West: O ye forests of mine,
I enter your soft summer-twilight of rest;
Dumb with rapturous freedom, I sink, I recline
On the dew-nurtured mosses, your lover and guest.
I enter your soft summer-twilight of rest;
Dumb with rapturous freedom, I sink, I recline
On the dew-nurtured mosses, your lover and guest.
