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Our Music's in the Hills.--EMERSON.
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The groves were God's first temples.--BRYANT.
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Nature, the vicar of the Almighty Lord.--CHAUCER.
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The liquid notes that close the eye of day, (the Nightingale).--MILTON.
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When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.--BISHOP
HEBER.
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O, for a seat in some poetic nook,
Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook.--LEIGH HUNT.
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By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.--CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.--WORDSWORTH.
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To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language.--BRYANT.
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And this one life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.--SHAKESPEARE.
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And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song,
That makes the heavens be mute.--COLERIDGE.
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There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture in the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar;
I love not Man the less, but Nature more.--BYRON.
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In June 'tis good to be beneath a tree
While the blithe season comforts every sense;
Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart,
Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares,
Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow
Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up
And tenderly lines some last-year's Robin's nest.--LOWELL.
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