WHERE glistening in the softness of the night
The vagrant will-o'-wisps do greet the sight;
Where fragrance baffling permeates the breeze
That gently flouts the grasses and the trees;
Where every flying thing doth seem to be
Instinct with sweetly sensuous melody;
Where hills and dales assume their warmest phase,
With here and there a scarf of opal haze
To soften their luxuriant attire;
Where one can almost hear the elfin choir
Across the meadow-land, down in the wood,
In songs of gladness—there are all things good.
Ah! ye who seek the spot where joys abide,
Awake! Awake! Seek out the country-side,
And through the blue-gray July haze see life
All free from care, from sorrow, and from strife.