How often we forget all time, when lone

Admiring Nature's universal throne;

Her woods—her wilds—her mountains—the intense

Reply of HERS to OUR intelligence!

1

In youth have I known one with whom the Earth

In secret communing held—as he with it,

In day light, and in beauty from his birth:

Whose fervid, flick'ring torch of life was lit

From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth

A passionate light—such for his spirit was fit—

And yet that spirit knew—not in the hour

Of its own fervor—what had o'er it power.

2

Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought

To a ferver by the moon beam that hangs o'er,

But I will half believe that wild light fraught

With more of sov'reignty than ancient lore

Hath ever told—or is it of a thought

The unembodied essence, and no more

That with a quick'ning spell doth o'er us pass