The Winters are so short --I'm hardly justifiedIn sending all the Birds away --And moving into Pod --Myself -- for scarcely settled --The Phoebes have begun --And then -- it's time to strike my Tent --And open House -- again --It's mostly, interruptions --My Summer -- is despoiled --Because there was a Winter -- once --And al the Cattle -- starved --And so there was a Deluge --And swept the World away --But Ararat's a Legend -- now --
How still, how happy! Those are wordsThat once would scarce agree together;I loved the plashing of the surge -The changing heaven the breezy weather,More than smooth seas and cloudless skiesAnd solemn, soothing, softened airsThat in the forest woke no sighsAnd from the green spray shook no tears.How still, how happy! now I feelWhere silence dwells is sweeter farThan laughing mirth's most joyous swellHowever pure its raptures are.Come, sit down on this sunny stone:'Tis wintry light o'er flowerless moors -But sit - for we are all aloneAnd clear expand heaven's breathless shores.
What will they do when I am gone? It is plainThat they will do without me as the rainCan do without the flowers and the grassThat profit by it and must perish without.I have but seen them in the loud street pass;And I was naught to them. I turned aboutTo see them disappearing carelessly.But what if I in them as they in meNourished what has great value and no price?Almost I thought that rain thirsts for a draughtWhich only in the blossom's chalice lies,Until that one turned back and lightly laughed.