Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand
Outstretched with benedictions o’er the land,
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domains.
Autumn.
Up soared the lark into the air,—
A shaft of song, a winged prayer,
As if a soul, released from pain,
Were flying back to heaven again.
The Sermon of St. Francis.
Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;