Henry Theodore Tuckerman (1813–1871)

NOT for the eye alone are here outspread

Skies, fields, and herds in such divine repose;

The soul of beauty that to these is wed

Through the fair landscape tremulously glows!

We seem to feel the meadow’s grateful air,

Hear the low breathing of the dreamy kine,

And the pure fragrance of the harvest share,

Until our hearts all cold distrust resign,

Feeling once more to truth and love allied;

And, while the fresh tranquillity we view,

Each good they have foretold and life denied,

Hope’s sweetest promises again renew;

As if the twilight angel hovered there,

To waft from nature’s rest a balm for human care.