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Or wouldst thou turn to earth? Not earth all furrowed By the old traces of man's toil and care, But the green peaceful world that never sorrowed, The world of leaves, and dews, and summer air!

Look on these flowers! As o'er an altar shedding, O'er Milton's page, soft light from coloured urns! They are the links, man's heart to nature wedding, When to her breast the prodigal returns.

They are from lone wild places, forest dingles, Fresh banks of many a low voiced hidden stream, Where the sweet star of eve looks down and mingles Faint lustre with the water-lily's gleam.

They are from where the soft winds play in gladness, Covering the turf with flowery blossom-showers; —Too richly dowered, O friend! are we for sadness— Look on an empire—mind and nature—ours!