Poems (E. L. F.)/Roseneath
ROSENEATH.
Oh! I would tell of the bright, bright sky,Of the perfumed zephyr hovering nigh,Of the heath-clad hill, whose purple hueRose o'er the wrapt and wondering view,—Of the glassy lake, whose mirrored sheenReflected o'er the sun-bright scene.No wave or wind in terror rose,To wake the deep and calm repose. Oh! I would sing of each tiny flowerThat blushed its fragrance on that hour,Smiling in beauty far and wide,Like sun-rays o'er the silvery tide;And the voice of music floated thereFrom woody warblers of the air:No "hum or shock" of man was nearTo break upon the listening ear,Or wake the deep impassioned toneThat haunts the soul of man alone. The jealous fear, the fretting care,Found no heart-aching echo there;And feelings, that for years had clungTo the lone heart from whence they sprung,Were hushed awhile in that noiseless hourBy the voiceless spell of nature's power.