hiper, The shouting water pæan'd praise of her, Who, with blue eyes, set the wild world on fire.
There is a music of immaculate love, That breathes within the virginal veins of Spring:-- And trillium blossoms, like the stars that cling To fairies' wands; and, strung on sprays above, White-hearts and mandrake blooms, that look enough Like the elves' washing, white with laundering Of May-moon dews; and all pale-opening Wild-flowers of the woods, are born thereof. There is no sod Spring's white foot brushes but Must feel the music that vibrates within, And thrill to the communicated touch Responsive harmonies, that must unshut The heart of beauty for song's concrete kin, Emotions--that be flowers--born of such.
Yes, there are some who may look on these Essential peoples of the earth and air-- That have the stars and flowers in their care-- And all their soul-suggestive secrecies: Heart-intimates and comrades of the trees, Who from them learn, what
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