Longing, we list our dim cathedral chime.
One well might paint the hemlock solitude,
The quiet shadow that the sunshine breaks;
Even in color give the song that wakes
At windy touch amid the peaceful wood.
Limned all might be, indeed, so cunningly
That one should hear the babble of glad stream,
E’en catch the climbing mountains’ happy gleam;
But—who could paint the murmur of the sea?
Who dream, amid these dark boughs closing o’er,