Page:Records of Woman.pdf/287

Rh

And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest, Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.

Sunbeam of summer! oh! what is like thee? Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea!— One thing is like thee to mortals given, The faith touching all things with hues of Heaven!