My heart is like a sleeping lake
Which takes the hue of cloud and sky,
And only feels its surface break
When birds of passage wander by,
Who dip their wings and upward soar,
And leave it quiet as before.
Thus change comes on me. If the light
Of the gay sun is drank by clouds,
And dulness sleeps upon the bright,
Clear garniture whose greenness shrouds
The naked nature; if the creep
Of lazy rain-clouds tells alone
Earth does not on its axle sleep,
And winds go over with a moan
Like birds wing-broken; if the sea
Looks like an agitated pall,
And sullied foam heaves mournfully,
And pitches from the dull green wall
Of waters; if the wild fowl rise
From the cold ocean with a plash,
And heavily wheel up the skies,
As if they would forget the dash
Of billows, and could pass away
From earthly sorrows as from earth;
If not one shorn, but sunny ray,
Leaps out like a stray thought of mirth;
If heaven looks sad, and seas look dull,
And nature’s beauty is a blank--
I feel as if my heart were full
Of waters from oblivion drank;
For I forget, like flowers, the hue
Of beauty, without sun and dew.
But a bright morning--when the lark
Is painted on the light blue sky,
And vapors rest upon the dark,
Deep pools of ebony that lie
In the hill shadows; when the leaves
Are stirring with the scented air,
And the bright drops that evening weaves
Like diamonds in the wavy hair
Of nature, glisten; when the wing
Of the light wind is but a shrine
On which the lowliest flower may fling
Its gift of odors; when the vine
Hath lifted its coarse leaf to show
Its azure clusters to the sun,
And quickened by his amorous glow,
The curling shoots stir one by one;
When every fibre, blade, and stem
That lifteth to the arch of blue,
Is jewelled with its droplet gem,
And every bathed and dainty hue
Hath a clear April freshness; when
The birds go caroling like streams
O’er pebbly courses, and the glen
Reechoes patiently the themes
A thousand summers and their birds
Have given in those very words;
When every nerve is nobly strung,
And leaping pulses swiftly pass,
And care is from the spirit flung
Like rain-drops from the swaying grass--
I feel as if my spirit took
From nature a new gift of sight,
And I could read her living book
By perfect and immediate light,
And knew, as angels know, how broad
Is the benevolence of God.