There are some quiet ways—
Ay, not a few—
Where the affections grow,
And noble days
Distil a gentle praise
That, as cool dew,
Or aromatic gums
Within a bower,
In after-times becomes
A calm, perennial dower....
James Herbert Morse
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“now half a hundred years had I been born—
So many and so brief—when made aware,
By Time’s blunt looks, of hoar-frost in my hair.
I turned to one of twenty, in the corn,
At husking time, that blissful autumn morn,
And said, ‘What if the red ear fall to me... -
The wild geese, flying in the night, behold
Our sunken towns lie underneath a sea,
Which buoys them on its billows. Liberty
They have, but such as those frail barques of old
That crossed unsounded mains to search our wold.
To them the night unspeakable is... -
brook, would thou couldst flow
With a music all thine own—
Thy babble of music alone—
Not a word of the Long Ago
In thy brawling down below,
Not a sigh of the wind by thee,
The wind in the willow tree!Or, Brook, if thou couldst go,...
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Come, silence, thou sweet reasoner,
Lay thy soft hand on all that stir—
On grass and shrub and tree and flower,
And let this be thine own dear hour.No more across the neighbor rill
To that lone cottage on the hill
Shall wonder with her questions...