But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.