How still the light, how still the pine!
But O the more I know their rest,
The more I feel it is not mine.
Great Nature loves our joy and calm;
But to our restless scorn and grief,
Wild weariness of love, she gives
No tenderness, and no relief.
Unkind, alas, she is to me!
What has her heart to do with strife?
‘Seek peace,’ she says, ‘my law of peace.’—