As if it knew the place were holy ground;
And would not startle, with too bright a burst,
Flowers, all divinely nursed.
Wakes there some spirit here?
A swift wind, fraught with change, comes rushing by;
And leaves and waters, in its wild career,
Shed forth sweet voices—each a mystery!
Surely some awful influence must pervade
These depths of trembling shade!
Yes! lightly, softly move!