To country I deem peopled, but know not?
My very heart declareth faith, yet hath not thine
Been touched and chilled by this same phantom?
Ah, through the granite sips the lichen—
And hast thou not a long dark journey made?
Why fear? As cloud wreaths fade
From spring’s warm smile, so shall fear
Be put to flight by faith.
I pluck me buds of varied hue and choose the violet
To weave a garland for my loved and best.