120 
WILD FLOWERS. 
E’en from the west, no breeze the lull’d airs bring. 
Hark! in the calm aloft, I hear the skylark sing! 
The thicket rustles near; the alders bow 
Down their green coronals; and as I pass, 
Waves in the rising wind, the silvering grass. 
Come, day’s ambrosial night! receive me now 
Beneath the roof by shadowy beeches made, 
Cool-breathing! Lost the gentler landscape’s bloom! 
And as the path mounts, snake-like, through the 
shade, 
Deep woods close round me with mysterious gloom; 
Still, through the trellice-leaves, at stolen whiles, 
Glints the stray beam, or the meek azure smiles, 
Again, and yet again, the veil is riven— 
And the glade opening, with a sudden glare, 
Lets in the blinding day! Before me, heaven 
With all its far-unbounded! one blue hill 
Ending the gradual world—in vapor! 
