For Nature Is Love, And Finds Haunts

Crowded Places, I Shunned Them As Noises Too Rude / And Flew To The Silence Of Sweet Solitude.

How Oft A Summer Shower Has Started Me; To Seek The Shelter Of A Hollow Tree

The Snow Has Left The Cottage Top; The Thatch Moss Grows In Brighter Green; And Eaves In Quick Succession Drop, Where Grinning Icicles Have Been, Pit-patting With A Pleasant Noise In Tubs Set By The Cottage Door; While Duck And Geese, With Happy Joys, Plunge In The Yard Pond Brimming Over. The Sun Peeps Through The Window Pane: Which Children Mark With Laughing Eye, And In The Wet Street Steal Again To Tell Each Other Spring Is Night.

I Am: Yet What I Am None Cares Or Knows, My Friends Forsake Me Like A Memory Lost; I Am The Self-consumer Of My Woes, They Rise And Vanish In Oblivious Host, Like Shades In Love And Death's Oblivion Lost; And Yet I Am, And Live With Shadows Tost.

Language Has Not The Power To Speak What Love Indites: The Soul Lies Buried In The Ink That Writes.