To me, long absent from the world of art, You bring the clouded mountains, my desire, The tranquil river, and the stormy sea, The far, pale morning, and the crimson eve, And silent days, that brood among lush leaves, When, in the afternoon, the summer sun Is gliding down the hazy yellow west, And my soul's atmosphere rests in the scene, Until I dream the boundaries of my life May hold an unknown, coming happiness. How shall I, then, to show my gratitude, But offer you a picture drawn in words-- With all the art I have,--in black and white! A LANDSCAPE. Between me and the woods along the bay The swallows circle through the darkling mist, The robins breast the grass, and they divide This solitude with me. The rippling sea And sunset clouds, the sea gulls' flashing flight From looming isles beyond--I watch them now With a new sense. Where are the swallows' young, And where the robins' nests? Year after year They hover round this ancient house, and I, Within as heedless, saw the long years pass, Nor ever dreamed a day like this might come-- A day when mourners go about the street For one who always loved his fellow-men. The windflower trembles in the woods, the sod Is full of violets, the orchards rain Their scented blossoms. May unfolds its leaves-- Nature's eternal mystery to renew. Must man be less than leaf or flower, and end? If I go hence, when this departed soul Has left no human tie to bind me now, When spring unfolds, and I recall his past, Will their remembrance lead me here again, To teach me that his spirit comes to show That Nature is eternal for man's sake? FROM THE HEADLAND.