When the cloud comes down the mountain,
And the rain is loud on the leaves,
And the slim flies gather for shelter
Under my cabin eaves,
Then my heart goes out to earth,— Charles G. D. Roberts
With the swollen brook runs free,
Drinks life with the drenched brown roots,
And climbs with the sap in the tree.
The poplars are fell’d, farewell to the shade
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade;
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.
Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view
Of my favorite field, and the bank where they grew:
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade.
The blackbird has fled to another retreat
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat;
And the scene where his melody charm’d me before
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.
My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.
‘Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,— W. Cowper
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments, I see,
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we.
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade
In winter, fire.
Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix’d; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;— A. POPE.
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
In the heart of a seed,
Buried deep, so deep,
A dear little plant
Lay fast asleep!
“Wake!” said the sunshine,
“And creep to the light!”
“Wake!” said the voice
Of the raindrop bright.
The little plant heard— Kate L. Brown
And it rose to see
What the wonderful
Outside world might be.