whom the greatest of modern poets thought 

 when he wrote : 



Thus at the roaring loom of time I ply 



And weave for God the robe thou seest Him by. 



The vast inland grain fields, that stretch 

 in unbroken procession from horizon to 

 horizon, have the seas at their roots not 

 less truly than the fertile soil out of which 

 they spring ; the verdure upon the moun- 

 tain ranges, that keep unbroken solitude 

 at the heart of the continents, speaks for- 

 ever of the distant oceans which nourish 

 it, and spread it like a vesture over the 

 barren heights. No traveller, deep in the 

 recesses of the remotest inland, ever passes 

 beyond the voice of that encircling ocean 

 which never died out of the ears of the 

 ancient Ulysses in the first Odyssey of 

 wandering. 



Two months ago the apple trees were 

 white with the foam of the upper sea; 

 to-day the roses have brought into my 

 little patch of garden the hues with which 

 sun and sea proclaimed their everlasting 

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