Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."

A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.

It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.

The eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.