Then the banner, like my spirit,
Ceased to waver, and more near it
Rode the pale moon, slow descending
To the chambers of the west;
And then for one blissful minute,
The dark banner held within it
The pale spirit's lovely vision,
Like a face within a breast;
And I knew by that sweet omen
I should be forgiven and blessed.
THE COUNTRY ROAD.
I love to muse along the tracery
Of a provincial road. The gaudy town,
With its full streets, its busy, care-browed throng,
May furnish food, ay, ample food for thought;
But such reflections as come o'er us there
Are feverish and unhealthy. But to me
There is sweet company in the old trees
That fling their shadows o'er the sunny way;
Whose murmur of innumerable leaves,
Broken by bursts of joyous harmony,
From the gay, bright-plumed choir, or by the quick,
Low, musical chattering of the small,
And many habitants of the old wood—
To find a flower, that half-concealed by leaves,
Had bloomed unseen (so many flowers of life
Are passed unheeded by, and careless feet
Trample them in the dust); all these have tongues,
That murmur in soft discourse to the heart.
The very shadows on the dusty way,
Changeful and restless, mock the swinging boughs
