The zephyr's breath, too languid for a breeze,
That stirs, yet scarcely moves, the gentle trees,
Touching the waters clear.
The sunrays, as they pass
Into broad sunshine, throw their light on all,
With bloom and blossom, whereso'er they fall;
On mount, or meadow-grass.
And something more than light
Sleeps on the verdant hill-side; dreams of love,
And glimpses of the happier state above,