And in thy course thou wert God's plow,
Thy furrow deep the valley
Of wooded walls and flowers to be,—
The circling sun
Keeps slow and sure the tally.
Reborn, thou waitedst not far down
The sunless caves to speed—
(Thy twin, lade with unfabled spoils,
Did build the plain,
Or green the expectant mead,
And weave the fabric, forge the plow,
Bear inland steam and sail)—
Or serv'dst, in mines and nether realms
Of shadowland,
The gnomes and genii pale.
II.
O fontal wealth of hasting life,
By stressful toil made sweet,
Stay now thy journey—here oft come
Wild sylvan things,
Here tender lovers meet.
By day the traveller spies the path
To thy o'erbending shade,
Drinks deep the brimming, cooling wave,
A living draught,
And wends his way, remade.
At night the one shy Pleiad drops
Her veil to look within
Thy clear, green-haloed deeps, and sees
Herself more fair
Than all her shining kin.
And, fair with labor's healthy toil,
Each face of yon dear home
Thou'st set within the pearly blue,
Or crocus glow,
Of overarching dome.