In columbine and clover-blow,
* * * * *
The million-handed sculptor moulds
Quaintest bud and blossom folds,
The million-handed painter pours
Opal hues and purple dye;
Azaleas flush the island floors,
And the tints of heaven reply.
Leaving to one side the mere external shows of the world, and calling in science to aid imagination, the poet strikes out stanzas like these from the ‘Song of Nature:’—
I wrote the past in characters