Not a sound disturbs the air,
There is quiet everywhere;
Over plains and over woods
What a mighty stillness broods!
Only there’s drowsy humming
From the yon warm lagoon slow coming:
Tis the dragon-hornet – see!
All bedaubed resplendently.
O ’tis easeful here to lie
Hidden from noon’s scorching eye,
In the grassy cool recess
Musing thus of quietness.
All the birds and insects keep
Where the coolest shadows sleep;
Even the busy ants are found
Resting in their pebbled mound;
Even the locust clingeth now
Silent to the barky bough:
Over hills and over plains
Quiet, vast and slumbrous, reigns.
Stale is their gladness who were never sad.
I am a native of the soil and I am proud of my birthplace. It is true its past has not been hallowed in history by the achievements of men whose name reflected a light upon the times in which they lived. We have no long line of poets or statesmen or warriors; in this country, Art has done nothing but Nature is everything. IT IS OURS, THEN, ALONE TO INAUGURATE THE FUTURE.
Words are deed. The words we hear
May revolutionize or rear
A mighty state.
A few tin strips of fleecy cloud lies long
And motionless above the eastern steeps,
Like shreds of silver lace: till suddenly,
Out from the flushing centre to the ends
On either hand, their lustrous layers become
Dipt in all crimson streaked with pink and gold;
And then, at last, are edged as with a band
Of crystal fire.