Laman Blanchard (1803–1845)

PLEASURES lie thickest where no pleasures seem:

There ’s not a leaf that falls upon the ground

But holds some joy, of silence or of sound;

Some sprite begotten of a summer dream.

The very meanest things are made supreme

With innate ecstasy. No grain of sand

But moves a bright and million-peopled land,

And hath its Eden and its Eves, I deem.

For Love, though blind himself, a curious eye

Hath lent me, to behold the hearts of things,

And touched mine ear with power. Thus, far or nigh,

Minute or mighty, fixed or free with wings,

Delight, from many a nameless covert sly,

Peeps sparkling, and in tones familiar sings.