All is silent, save the faint
And interrupted murmur of the bee
Settling on the sick flowers, and then again
Instantly on the wing.
All the green herbs
Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers
By the road side, and the borders of the brook
Nod, gaily to each other.
Autumn Woods. This is a poem of much sweetness and simplicity of
expression, and including one or two fine thoughts, viz:
the sweet South-west at play
Flies, rustling where the painted leaves are strown
Along the winding way.
But 'neath yon crimson tree
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark within its roseate canopy
Her flush of maiden shame.
The mountains that unfold
In their wide sweep the colored landscape round,
Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold
That guard the enchanted ground.
All this is beautiful- Happily to endow inanimate nature with
sentience and a capability of moral action is one of the severest
tests of the poet. Even the most unmusical ear will not fail to
appreciate the rare beauty and strength of the extra syllable in the
line
Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold.
Pages:
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92