Chapter LXXXIV

It was the holy Easter-day,
And Nature, like an infant lay,
When soft its breathing comes and goes,
No sound, no stir, but cool repose.
A calm soft sleep was in the air,
And every breeze, that whisper’d there,
Came sweet as from a seraph’s mouth,
With odours from the sunny South.
And so the garden-walks along
I saunter’d pleas’d, and humming song,
And knew that Heaven itself above,
Did keep with Earth that feast of Love.