 | Ailes d'Alouette |  |
13
THE NATVRE-LOVER
The
stars, the seas, the mountains, are they only
Mirrors of Man? and is the landscape lonely
And loveless in your eyes unless ye mark
The smoke-wreath rising, or the white-sailed barque?
Mirrors of Man? and is the landscape lonely
And loveless in your eyes unless ye mark
The smoke-wreath rising, or the white-sailed barque?
Ah, happier souls, that love the solitude
Where Man comes rarely and no voice is rude!
These find no footsteps where no feet have trod,
And hear woods whispering the thoughts of God.
Where Man comes rarely and no voice is rude!
These find no footsteps where no feet have trod,
And hear woods whispering the thoughts of God.
| Ailes d'Alouette | |