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| SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice: thou | |
| That cool’st the twilight of the sultry day! | |
| Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow; | |
| Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, | |
| Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, | 5 |
| Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, | |
| And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee | |
| To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea! | |
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| Nor I alone,—a thousand bosoms round | |
| Inhale thee in the fulness of delight; | 10 |
| And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound | |
| Livelier, at coming of the wind of night; | |
| And languishing to hear thy welcome sound, | |
| Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight. | |
| Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,— | 15 |
| God’s blessing breathed upon the fainting earth! | |
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| Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest; | |
| Curl the still waters, bright with stars; and rouse | |
| The wide old wood from his majestic rest, | |
| Summoning from the innumerable boughs, | 20 |
| The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast. | |
| Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows | |
| The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, | |
| And where the o’ershadowing branches sweep the grass. | |
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| Stoop o’er the place of graves, and softly sway | 25 |
| The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone, | |
| That they who near the churchyard willows stray, | |
| And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, | |
| May think of gentle souls that passed away, | |
| Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, | 30 |
| Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men, | |
| And gone into the boundless heaven again. | |
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| The faint old man shall lean his silver head | |
| To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, | |
| And dry the moistened curls that overspread | 35 |
| His temples, while his breathing grows more deep: | |
| And they who stand about the sick man’s bed | |
| Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, | |
| And softly part his curtains to allow | |
| Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. | 40 |
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| Go,—but the circle of eternal change, | |
| Which is the life of nature, shall restore, | |
| With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, | |
| Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more. | |
| Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange, | 45 |
| Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore; | |
| And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem | |
| He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. | |
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