Here on my little hill and in the clover....
Dost hear the rustle of the streamlet through the wood?
Jacobi was one whose heart, as he said of Gleim, took a warm interest in all that breathed, even a violet, and sought sympathy and companionship in the whole range of creation.
This is from his Morning Song:
See how the wood awakes, how from the lighted heights
With the soft waving breeze
The morning glory smiles in the fresh green....
Here by the rippling brook and quivering flower,
We catch Love's rustle as she gently sweeps
Like Spring's own breath athwart the plains.