A bower for thee and thine?
Yes! lone and lowly is that home; yet there
Something of heaven in the transparent air
Makes every flower divine.
Something that mellows and that glorifies,
Breathes o’er it ever from the tender skies,
As o’er some blessed isle;
E’en like the soft and spiritual glow
Kindling rich woods, whereon th’ ethereal bow
Sleeps lovingly awhile.