EARTH.
Harp! lift thy voice on high,
And run in rapid numbers o’er the face
Of Nature’s scenery; and there were day
And night, and rising suns, and setting suns;
And clouds that seemed like chariots of saints,
By fiery coursers drawn—as brightly head
As if the glorious, lusty, golden locks
Of thousand cherubims had been shorn off,
And on the temples hung of morn and even;
And there were moons, and stars, and darkness streaked
With light; and voice of tempest heard secure.
And there were seasons coming evermore,
And going still—all fair and always new,
With bloom, and fruit, and fields of hoary grain.
And there were hills of flocks, and groves of song;
And flowery streams, and garden walks embowered,
Where side by side the rose and lily bloomed.
And sacred founts, wild hills, and moonlight glens;
And forests vast, fair lawns, and lovely oaks,
And little willows sipping at the brook;
Old wizard haunts, and dancing seats of mirth;
Gay, festive bowers, and palaces in dust;
Dark owlet nooks, and caves, and belted rocks;
And winding valleys, roofed with pendent shade;
And tall and perilous cliffs, that overlooked
The breath of Ocean, sleeping on his waves.
Sounds, sights, smells, tastes; the heaven and earth, profuse
In endless sweets, above all praise of song:
For not to use alone did Providence
Abound, but large example gave to man
Of grace, and ornament, and splendor rich;
Suited abundantly to every taste
In bird, beast, fish, winged and creeping thing;
In herb and flower; and in the restless change
Which on the many-colored seasons made
The annual circuit of the fruitful earth.
Robert Pollock, 1799–1827.