Rustles the drooping foliage—as the wind
Comes like the breath of infancy, when hushed
In quiet slumber on the mother’s breast.
How beautiful must be this visible world
To those whose sense can drink the glorious light
Shed over nature’s face! for whom the day,
Fresh dawning, brings in newer loveliness—
The rich and treasured beauties which the earth
Pours forth in glad profusion!—For my soul,
A world of unpierced darkness lies before;