Page:The Romance of Nature; or, The Flower-Seasons Illustrated.djvu/36

 Interminably spread before our eyes,

Challenge our onward progress in its lore,—

Small though our utmost grasp of it may be—

Then will ye listen to the simple lyre,

That now, with changeful tone, or grave, or gay,

Wakes its wild music to a gentle theme,—

Gentle and sweet,—'Tis.