 | Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies |  |
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LXXXIII.
THE PEACE OF THE WOODS
Thou hast enamor'd me of woodland scenes,Good shepherd, for thou show'st them with an air
Of truth, to win even wilder hearts to hear,
Than his who sits beside thee,—and thus gleans
Thy secret from thee of true happiness,
Inbred content and quiet humbleness,
That cannot be o'erthrown by rising high,
And vexeth not the glance of envious eye.
They blessings are of that serener kind,
Which, as they rouse no passions up, must be,
Lik'd to that breeze benign that strokes the sea,
'Till it subsides in murmurs. No rude wind
Disturbs thy world's smooth waters, and defames
The glory of its peace, with its unreasoning storms.
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