I

Yet morning comes with pageantry of fire, And evening falls with majesty of flame, And every hour hath something to reclaim The waste of life, slow wilting behind wire. It were a doleful dungeon that could tire Nature’s incessant carefulness to shame Sheer stalemate from each thing that lives, and claim All motion for her universal choir. Thus day by dreary day the chargèd hours Pass influence from the sweetness of the hills Across these cages, and the scent of flowers Is wafted, and the fragrant dew distils, And unimaginable stir of powers From the deep sense of woods divinely thrills.

RASTATT, 7th May