Here would I pour my soul out in wooing
The spirit that dwells in your charmed home;
Here would I linger gladly, if knowing
My waiting might lead it at last to come.
Let me while here with you catch the spirit
Of peace and comfort abiding in you,
Then will my Nature truly inherit
A love for the beautiful, noble, and true.
THE STREAM'S STORY.
I sat me down in a forest old,
Beside a low murmuring stream;
I lent my ear to the tale it told,
For 'twas more than fancy's dream;
It spoke of days when the earth was young,
When it flowed more cheerfully,
When its water sang the rocks among,
As they danced down toward the sea.
"In the ancient days my banks were filled,
Nor shrank I from heat or frost,
For the shaded, moss-crowned earth then held
The drops, so that none were lost.
"The old forest then stretched far away,
And its sheltering arms embraced
Sweet perfumed plants and flowerets gay,
Whose lives long ago have ceased.
"For the sturdy woodman plied the blade
And the forest soon lay low;
Then the burning sun and the want of shade
Soon shrank my full crystal flow.
"Now when the rain comes, my waters roar,
And my spoils are sad to see,
For the earth-vaults where I kept my store,
Hold no surplus now for me.