SOME LOVERS OF NATURE, 



Our Music's in the Hills. — Emerson. 



The groves were God's first temples. — Bryant. 



Nature, the vicar of the Almighty Lord. — Chaucer. 



The liquid notes that close the eye of day, (the Nightingale). — Milton. 

 When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil. — Bishop Heber. 



O, for a seat in some poetic nook, 



Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook. — Leigh Hunt. 



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By shallow rivers, to whose falls 



Melodious birds sing madrigals. — Christopher Marlowe. 



To me the meanest flower that blows can give 



Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. — Wordsworth. 



To him who in the love of nature holds 

 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 

 A various language — Bryant. 



And this one life, exempt from public haunt, 

 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 

 Sermons in stones, and good in everything. — Shakespeare. 



And now 'twas like all instruments. 



Now like a lonely flute ; 



And now it is an angel's song. 



That makes the heavens be mute. — Coleridge. 



There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. 



There is a rapture in the lonely shore, 



There is society, where none intrudes. 



By the deep sea, and music in its roar ; 



I love not Man the less, but Nature more. — Byron. 



In June 'tis good to be beneath a tree 



While the blithe season comforts every sense; 



Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart. 



Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares. 



Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow 



Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up |y 



And tenderly lines some last-year's Robin's nest — LowELL. 



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