Poems (Rice)/Morning Walk in June
MORNING WALK IN JUNE.
THE fragrance of the fresh-mown hay
Perfumes the air around to-day;
Delicious odors rise;
The walnut, pine, and cedar trees,
Are waving gently in the breeze,
Beneath the bluest skies.
Perfumes the air around to-day;
Delicious odors rise;
The walnut, pine, and cedar trees,
Are waving gently in the breeze,
Beneath the bluest skies.
The buttercup and clover too,
Wild flowers of every shade and hue,
Seem more than ever fair;
And I, too, feel the mystic power
That spangles every leaf and flower,
That tinged them with such care.
Wild flowers of every shade and hue,
Seem more than ever fair;
And I, too, feel the mystic power
That spangles every leaf and flower,
That tinged them with such care.
The hill, that reigns a monarch here,
Where trees, and rocks, and shrubs appear,
And golden mosses grow,—
We clamber up its craggy side,
Forgetting all that may betide,
To gaze on scenes below.
Where trees, and rocks, and shrubs appear,
And golden mosses grow,—
We clamber up its craggy side,
Forgetting all that may betide,
To gaze on scenes below.
The vales with beauty, joy, abound,
With works of loveliness are crowned—
Ah! who can paint like this?
A glimpse of Eden now I view,
As seen the opening vista through,
Beyond the steep abyss.
With works of loveliness are crowned—
Ah! who can paint like this?
A glimpse of Eden now I view,
As seen the opening vista through,
Beyond the steep abyss.
My eye upon a garden fair
Now rests. To what can I compare
This rural, charming place?
What can I of its priestess[1] say?—
O could my pen my thoughts obey,
To paint her form and face!
Now rests. To what can I compare
This rural, charming place?
What can I of its priestess[1] say?—
O could my pen my thoughts obey,
To paint her form and face!
Come, come ye muses, all inspire,
Come tune this morn my simple lyre,
That I may sing her praise;
O bid your gifted son[2] of song,
Who dares unto her race belong,
His thrilling notes to raise.
Come tune this morn my simple lyre,
That I may sing her praise;
O bid your gifted son[2] of song,
Who dares unto her race belong,
His thrilling notes to raise.
O bid him sing her virtues, skill,
That might a holy volume fill,
And faithfully portray
A life of piety and love;
Refinement more than all above,
Her charities display.
That might a holy volume fill,
And faithfully portray
A life of piety and love;
Refinement more than all above,
Her charities display.
That garden, arched by leaf and vine,
Fulfills almost my dreams divine,
So perfect and so grand;
The purple grape it forms a part,
Surpassing all the rules of art,
Which mid the dews expand.
Fulfills almost my dreams divine,
So perfect and so grand;
The purple grape it forms a part,
Surpassing all the rules of art,
Which mid the dews expand.
The herds are grazing by the stream;
Beneath the boughs I catch a gleam,
And hear the ripples flow.
The minstrels, too, of air and light,
From grove to grove they wing their yen
And songs of praise bestow.
Beneath the boughs I catch a gleam,
And hear the ripples flow.
The minstrels, too, of air and light,
From grove to grove they wing their yen
And songs of praise bestow.
My heart with love it is imbued
In this majestic solitude;
All nature seems to bless;
I find no language to reveal,
To you, beloved, one half I feel,
Not half can I express.
In this majestic solitude;
All nature seems to bless;
I find no language to reveal,
To you, beloved, one half I feel,
Not half can I express.