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[V. The brook is eddying in the forest dell]
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[V. The brook is eddying in the forest dell]

The brook is eddying in the forest dell
All full of untaught merriment,—the joy
Of breathing life is this green wood's employ.
The wind is feeling through his gentle bell,
I and my flowers receive this music well.
Why will not man his natural life enjoy?
Can he then with his ample spirit toy?
Are human thoughts, like wares, now baked to sell?
All up, all round, all down, a thrilling deep,
A holy infinite salutes the sense,
And incommunicable praises leap,
Shooting the entire soul with love intense
Throughout the all. Can man live on to weep,
Submitting to such heavenly influence?