American Poetry

I. Youth. Sweet empty sky of June without a stain, Faint, gray-blue dewy mists on far-off hills, Warm, yellow sunlight flooding mead and plain, That each dark copse and hollow overfills ; The rippling laugh of unseen, rain-fed rills, Weeds delicate-flowered, white and pink and gold, A murmur and a singing manifold. The gray, austere old earth renews her youth With dew-lines, sunshine, gossamer, and haze.
How still she lies and dreams, and veils the truth, While all is fresh as in the early days ! What simple things be these the soul to raise To bounding joy, and make young pulses beat, With nameless pleasure finding life so sweet. On such a golden morning forth there floats, Between the soft earth and the softer sky, In the warm air adust with glistening motes, The mystic winged and flickering butterfly, A human soul, that hovers giddily Among the gardens of earth's paradise, Nor dreams of fairer fields or loftier skies.