And soft thy footstep falls upon
The verdant grass it weaves; [15]
To melting murmurs ye have stirred
The timid, trembling leaves.
When sunshine beautifies the shower,
As smiles through teardrops seen,
Ask of its June, the long-hushed heart, [20]
What hath the record been?
And thou wilt find that harmonies,
In which the Soul hath part,