Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/225



How silent are the song-filled nests That crowd this drowsy tree— How mute is every feathered breast That swelled with melody! And yet bright bead-like eyes declare This hour is extacy.

Heart forth! as uncaged bird through air, And mingle in the tide Of blessed things that, lacking care, Now full of beauty glide Around thee, in their angel hues Of joy and sinless pride.

Here, on this green bank that o'er-views The far retreating glen, Beneath the spreading beech-tree muse, On all within thy ken; For lovelier scene shall never break On thy dimmed sight again.

Slow stealing from the tangled brake That skirts the distant hill, With noiseless hoof two bright fawns make For yonder lapsing rill; Meek children of the forest gloom, Drink on and fear no ill!