Dark forest, mountain, the o’erarching wheel
Of heaven’s solemn turning, all the old
Immeasurable air and boundless sea—
Yields of its life, builds life and strength in me
For tasks to come, while I but see and feel,
And merely am, and it is joy to be.
Lo, that small spark within us is not blind
To its beginning; struck from one vast soul
Which, in the framework of the world, doth bind
All parts together; small, but still agreeing