  Thy whispers float upon the liquid air, The sunbeams quiver by thy breath made quick, The myriad forest-branches thronging thick Thrill with delight thy mystic touch to bear, Like an enchanted harp to fingers fair Yielding a music that can soothe the sick, Or heal a heart that cruel pain doth prick; Waters and winds thy living spirit share; Thy wrath is in the thunder, and thy tears Weep for man's dulness in melodious rain. Mistress, forgive me if on deafened ears, Full of life's clamour and its harsh refrain, Thy words have fallen all these barren years, And take me for thy minister again. |
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