Sanctuary

Whence came the sweet insurgence of the Spring That loosed the wild bird songs, the willow buds, The twilight chorus in the marsh, and shone Within the visionary soul of Man?... When we behold in August on a day The goldenrod upon a thousand trails, The asters in blue drifts through clearings wild, And every roadside gay with meadow rue— The poet's recompense and traveller's joy— When, thrilled by beauty passing thought, we sense That harmony which is the artist's peace And presage of creation, then we know One walked with love among the misty hills In a gray cloak of rain, and dreamed a dream.