And all the blood is warm as wine
And tingles with a tang divine....
O gracious dream, and gracious time,
And gracious theme, and gracious rhyme—
When buds of Spring begin to blow
In blossoms that we used to know,
And lure us back along the ways
Of time’s all-golden yesterdays!”
It is not the farmer alone whose simple virtues appeal to him; but rugged manhood anywhere commands his tribute, and he has hardly written a more touching lyric than “Away,” whose subject was an Indiana soldier:—
“I cannot say, and I will not say