No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.

The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.

And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.