... Don’t be troubled about “orchard-notes.” I consider it the highest compliment. Think of goldfinches and linnets, song-sparrows and orioles! I know and love their separate songs, and should feel proud if I thought _my_ singing deserved comparison with theirs. Why, three fourths of the cheer of the spring and summer-time is in those same orchard-notes! I shall have to try hard to live up to my reputation. But if you do think I get up a little higher into the air, a little farther off into the wilderness sometimes, for a more meditative flight of song, just remember that very high critics do not always comprehend the music in the air about them. Does not Milton write of Shakespeare as “Fancy’s child,” and of his poetry as “wood-notes wild”? Such an estimate must be imperfect, because it leaves out of consideration the moral power of her religious writings, which, more than her nature-songs, have won for her a place in the regard of the people. A gentleman thanking her for the gift of one of her books, expressed for many readers a recognition of this deeper hold: “A soul once fed and inspired as was mine, at a critical and sad juncture of its life, by your poetry, is likely to open, as I did, the beautiful book your kindness sent me, with strange delight.” One who could write “A Thanksgiving,” with its noble lines,-- “For thine own great gift of Being, I thank Thee, O my God,” and the words,-- “Lord, enter this house of my being And fill every room with Thy light,”-- should certainly be called a religious poet of a high order; and her poems are filled with such passages as that which follows, presenting religious thought simply and convincingly:-- “God hears The prayer the good man means, the Soul’s desire, Under whatever rubbish of vain speech; And prayer is, must be, each man’s deepest words. He who denies its power, still uses it, Whenever he names God, or thinks of Him.” Poetry, to her, was vastly more than word-shaping, or combinations of accented and unaccented syllables; it was an attitude of mind and soul towards all existence, a view-point of her being, from which she saw such visions, and heard such sounds, that the impulse was irresistible to record in recognized poetic form her ideas and feelings. She found poetry in everything around her; it was the atmosphere she breathed, the medium, like imponderable ether, through which she saw life. Nature had a more profound meaning to her than the charm of color, or the changing pleasures of the land or the sea. It was the visible evidence of the unseen, the prophecy of a greater fulfillment, the proclamation of the spiritual element within, which the senses of themselves could not perceive. She once said, “Nature is one vast metaphor through which spiritual truth may be read:”-- “The Universe is one great loving Thought, Written in Hieroglyphs of bud and bloom.”