Up, up, my heart! and walk abroad, fling work and care aside;
Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide;
Or underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal trees,
See through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity.
The grass is soft; its velvet touch is grateful to the hand,
And, like the kiss of maiden love, the breeze is sweet and bland;
The daisy and the butter-cup are nodding courteously;
It stirs their blood with kindest love to bless and welcome thee.
And mark how with thine own thin locks, they now are silvery gray—
That blissful breeze is wantoning, and whispering “Be gay!”