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70 I've seen the grass on Eastern graves

In brighter verdure rise;

But oh, the rain that gave it life

Sprang first from human eyes.

"I come to wash away no stain

Upon your wasted lea;

I raise no banners, save the ones

The forest wave to me.

Upon the mountain side, where Spring

Her farthest picket sets

My reveillé awakes a host

Of grassy bayonets.

"I visit every humble roof;

I mingle with the low;

Only upon the highest peaks

My blessings fall in snow,

Until in tricklings of the stream,

And drainings of the lea,

My unspent bounty comes at last

To mingle with the sea."