  Unruffled the pure ether shines, O'er the blue flood no vapour sails, Bloom-laden are the clinging vines, All odour-fraught the vales. There's not a ripple on the main, There's not a breath to stir the leaves, The sunlight falls upon the plain Beside the silent sheaves. The drowsy herd forget to crop, The bee is cradled in the balm: If but one little leaf should drop, 'Twould break the sacred calm. From the wide sea leaps up no voice, Mute is the forest, mute the rill; Whilst the glad earth sang forth Rejoice, God's whisper said—Be still. Her pulses in a lull of rest, In hush submissive Nature lies, With folded palms upon her breast, Dreaming of yon fair skies. J. D. |
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