 | The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems |  |
[Thou hast enamor'd me of woodland scenes]
Thou hast enamor'd me of woodland scenes,Good shepherd, for thou tell'st them with an air
That might have won a wilder thought to hear,
Than his, who sits beside thee, while he gleans
Thy secret from thee, of sweet happiness—
Inborn content, and quiet humbleness—
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And so attracteth not the gaze of envious eye.
Thy blessings are of that serener kind,
Which, as they call no passions forth, must be
Only the lighter curl that breaks the sea
Into a pleasant murmur—no rough wind
Is there, to rouse the sleeping ocean's form,
And call the whirlwind forth, and usher in the storm.
| The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems | |