Under these leafy vaults and walls, That unto gentle sleep persuade; This rainbow of the waterfalls, Of mingled mist and sunshine made;
Upon these shores, where all invites, We live our languid life apart; This air is that of life's delights, The festival of sense and heart;
This limpid space of time prolong, Forget to-morrow in to-day, And leave unto the passing throng The Sea, the Town, and the Highway.
TO MY BROOKLET
BY JEAN FRANCOIS DUCIS
Thou brooklet, all unknown to song, Hid in the covert of the wood! Ah, yes, like thee I fear the throng, Like thee I love the solitude.
O brooklet, let my sorrows past Lie all forgotten in their graves, Till in my thoughts remain at last Only thy peace, thy flowers, thy waves.
The lily by thy margin waits;— The nightingale, the marguerite; In shadow here he meditates His nest, his love, his music sweet.
Near thee the self-collected soul Knows naught of error or of crime; Thy waters, murmuring as they roll, Transform his musings into rhyme.