but if, in any cot to east or west and set behind the woods, there is any planetary character illuminating the earth.
Packed in my mind lie all the clothes
Which outward nature wears,
For, as its hourly fashions change,
It all things else repairs,
My eyes look inward, not without,
And I but hear myself,
And this new wealth which I have got
Is part of my own pelf.
For while I look for change abroad,
I can no difference find,
Till some new ray of peace uncalled
Lumines my inmost mind,
As, when the sun streams through the wood,
Upon a winter's morn,
Where'er his silent beams may stray
The murky night is gone.
How could the patient pine have known
The morning breeze would come,
Or simple flowers anticipate
The insect's noonday hum,
Till that new light with morning cheer
