Love Lives With Nature, Not

For Nature Is Love, And Finds Haunts For True Love, Where Nothing Can Hear Or Intrude; It Hides From The Eagle And Joins With The Dove, In Beautiful Green Solitude.

Old Noted Oak! I Saw Thee In A Mood Of Vague Indifference; And Yet With Me Thy Memory, Like Thy Fate, Hath Lingering Stood For Years, Thou Hermit, In The Lonely Sea Of Grass That Waves Around Thee!

Old April Wanes, And Her Last Dewy Morn Her Death-bed Steeps In Tears; To Hail The May New Blooming Blossoms Neath The Sun Are Born, And All Poor April's Charms Are Swept Away.

I Am Gennerally Understood Tho I Do Not Use That Awkward Squad Of Pointings Called Commas Colons Semicolons Etc.

In Mid-wood Silence, Thus, How Sweet To Be; Where All The Noises, That On Peace Intrude, Come From The Chittering Cricket, Bird, And Bee, Whose Songs Have Charms To Sweeten Solitude.