Poems (Hoffman)/Arcata
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ARCATA
O green hills of Arcata, I come thy Summer's guest,
As some tired bird from flying above the sea's unrest,
As some unquiet spirit longing for Nature's psalm,
And even now I hear it, that symphony of calm;
'Tis breathed by rocks and mosses, 'tis sung by stream and hill,
And all life's petty crosses for very shame are still!
O Nature, lovely Nature, thou hast no fevered dreams!
There's quiet in thy cloistered nooks, there's coolness in thy streams,
Lend me thy daisy pillow to rest my weary brain,
Soft breeze and waving willow chant ye my slumber strain.
As some tired bird from flying above the sea's unrest,
As some unquiet spirit longing for Nature's psalm,
And even now I hear it, that symphony of calm;
'Tis breathed by rocks and mosses, 'tis sung by stream and hill,
And all life's petty crosses for very shame are still!
O Nature, lovely Nature, thou hast no fevered dreams!
There's quiet in thy cloistered nooks, there's coolness in thy streams,
Lend me thy daisy pillow to rest my weary brain,
Soft breeze and waving willow chant ye my slumber strain.