The air is fill’d with summer’s breath,
The young flowers laugh—yet look! ’tis Death!
But if, where silvery currents rove,
Thy heart, grown still and sage,
Hath learn’d to read the words of love
That shine o’er nature’s page;
If holy thoughts thy guests have been
Under the shade of willows green;
Then, lover of the silent hour
By deep lone waters pass’d!