His tender touch,—a cure for every ill.
He is the king of peace, when all is done.
Earth and the air are moulded to his will.
XIX.
TO ONE I LOVE.
Oh, let me plead with thee to have a nook,
A garden nook, not far from thy domain,
That there, with harp, and voice, and poet-book,
I may be true to thee, and, passion-fain,
Rehearse the songs of nature once again:—