ly better if thou keep
My outer senses in a charmed sleep.

Sweet friend!--I love that pleasant name of friend--
We walk not ever singly, through the world;
But even as our shadow doth attend
Our going in the sunshine, and is furled
About us in the darkness--so that shade
Which haunts our other self, is faintly seen
Beside us in our gladness, and is made
To wrap us coldly life's bright hours between.
Unconsciously we court it. In our youth,
While yet our morning sky is pink with joy,
We, curious if our happiness be truth,
Try to discern the shadow of alloy.
O, I remember well the earliest time
A sorrow touched me, and I nursed it then;
Tho' but few summers of our northern clime
Had sunned my growth among the souls of men.

In an old wood, reputed for its age,
And for its beauty wild and picturesque;
The bound and goal of each day's pilgrimage,
Where were all forms of graceful and grotesque;
And countless hues, from the dark stately pine
That whispered its wild mysteries to my ear,
To the smooth silver of the birch-trees shine,
Showing between the aspens straight and fair;
With forest flowers, and delicate vines that crept
From the rich soil far up among the trees,
Seeking that light their boughs did intercept,
And dalliance and caresses of the breeze.
In midst of these, sheltered from sun and wind
Glimmered a lake, in long and shining curves,
Like a bright fillet that should serve to bind
That scene to earth--if she the gem deserves!
For gem it was, as proud upon her brow
As jewels on the forehead of a queen;
And one thought as one turned from it, of how
Eve exiled, must have missed some just such scene.
O, there I type my life! I used to sigh
Sitting on this side, with my lap piled up
With violets of the real sapphire dye,
For the gay gold of the bright buttercup
Spangling the green sod on the other side--
For the lake's breadth was but an arrow's flight,
And the brief distance did not serve to hide
What yet could not be reached except by sight.

Day after day I dreamed there, while my heart
Gathered up knowledge in its childish way,
Making fine pictures with unconscious art,
And learning beauty more and more each day.
Ever and ever haunted I that spot--
Sitting in dells scooped out between the hills,