The waves forever move; The hills forever rest: Yet each the heavens approve, And Love alike hath blessed A Martha’s household care, A Mary’s cloistered prayer.
The Sisters
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Whence, O fragrant form of light, Hast thou drifted through the night, Swanlike, to a leafy nest, On the restless waves, at rest? Art thou from the snowy zone Of a mountain-summit blown, Or the blossom of a dream, Fashioned in the foamy stream? Nay,—methinks the maiden moon, When the daylight...
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No more the battle or the chase The phantom tribes pursue, But each in its accustomed place The Autumn hails anew: And still from solemn councils set On every hill and plain, The smoke of many a calumet Ascends to heaven again.
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Godlike beneath his grave divinities, The last of all their worshippers, he stood. The shadows of a vanished multitude Enwound him, and their voices in the breeze Made murmur, while the meditative trees Reared of their strong fraternal branches rude A temple meet for prayer. What blossoms...