Some keep the Sabbath going to church, I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.
In the name of the bee And of the butterfly And of the breeze, amen!
This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me, the simple news that nature told, with tender majesty. Her message is committed, to hands I cannot see; for love of her, sweet countrymen, judge tenderly of me.
To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
The career of flowers differs from ours only inaudibleness.
What will the solemn Hemlock- What will the Oak tree say?
Nature, like us is sometimes caught without her diadem.
A color stands abroad on solitary hills that silence cannot overtake, but human nature feels.
How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!
A little madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King, But God be with the Clown, Who ponders this tremendous scene-- This whole experiment in green, As if it were his own!
A wounded deer leaps the highest.
This is my letter to the World / That never wrote to Me-- / The simple News that Nature told-- / With tender majesty.