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I feel it in each little flower
Around me where I stand,—
In all the moonshine scattered fair,
Above, below me, everywhere,—
In every dew-bead glistening sheen,
In every leaf and blade of green,—
And in this silence grand and deep,
Wherein thy blessed creatures sleep.
The trees send forth their shadows long
In gambols o'er the earth,
To chase each other's innocence
In quiet, holy mirth;
O'er the glad meadows fast they throng,
Shapes multiform and tall;
And lo! for them the chaste moonbeam,
With broadest light doth fall.
Mad phantoms all, they onward glide,—
On swiftest wind they seem to ride
O'er meadow, mount, and stream:
And now, with soft snd silent pace,
They walk as in a dream,
While each bright earth-flower hides its face
Of blushes, in their dim embrace.
