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Do ye not joy to know the pure delight 
With which we gaze 
Upon your glorious forms ?—Are ye not glad 
E’en in the praise 
Which our enraptured wonder ever tells 
While poring o’er the wealth that in ye dwells;— 
That wealth of thought, of beauty, and of love, 
Which may be found 
In each small common herb that springs from out 
The teeming ground ? 
Do ye not feel that ye do deeply bless 
Our harsher souls by your dear loveliness ? 
Oh ! if ’tis given unto ye to know 
The thrilling power 
Of memories and thoughts that can be read 
E’en in a flower. 
How ye must all rejoice beneath each look 
Which reads your beauty like an open book! 
We love its silent language: strong, though still, 
Is that unheard 
But all-pervading harmony: — it breathes 
No uttered word. 
But floats around us, as, in happy dream. 
We feel the soft sigh of a waveless stream. 
