’Midst all this beauty, all this calm repose,
No soothing joy the lonely blind man knows;
Dark, dark, to him, this smiling scene appears,
Gloomy and sad the livery nature wears;
The brightening smile of love can never meet
His answering glance; the sun will rise and set,
But its bright beams can never meet his sight,
Clouded by one long, dark and dreary night.
Spring, with its opening green, its fragrant flowers,
Its rich luxuriance, and its rosy bowers,