Over me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and of deity;
Beauty through my senses stole,—
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.
—RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
Now the tender, sweet arbutus
Trails her blossom-clustered vines,
And the many-figured cinquefoil
In the shady hollow twines;
Here, behind this crumbled tree-trunk,