The pastorals of peace.
And yet, as ’twere a spectral mist,
I half suspect they may return sometime,
Remembering the beauty of this sylvan scene,
The wide blue vista of the deep,
Its glinting sails;
Perhaps they come to brush away the withered leaves that clog our minds,
And blaze a trail for Immortality,
More sunshine and more flowers;
To help us hear the blackbird’s whistle in the trees,