I.
Full many a glorious image have I caught,
Sweet valley! from thy gentle scenery;
Brooks blue with the June heaven; white cliff, and sky,
And forest-shaded nooks; nor less, the Thought
That stirs in Nature's hushed solemnity,
The boundless Thought which fills the solitude
And holy twilight of the pathless wood,
With its perpetual and present mystery.
How like a passion it pervades these deep,
Dark groves of hemlock, while the sultry noon
Fills the green meadows with the heats of June,
And hangs its haze upon the mountain-steep!
It is the breath of God, who here hath made
Meet worship for Himself, amid the thickest shade.