Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.
And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
Small service is true service, while it lasts.
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.