That heaven-like made that early time:—
These all are gone: must faith go too?
Is truth too lovely to be true?
In nature dwells no kindling soul?
Moves no vast life throughout the whole?
Are not thought, knowledge, love’s sweet might,
Shadows of substance infinite?
Shall rippling river, bow of rain,
Blue mountains, and the bluer main.
Red dawn, gold sundown, pearly star