The Blind Poet.

Give me thy hand, and when the songsters wake1
The woodland world to melody of love2
When the faint ripples of gray-silver break,3
And leaping light enfolds the deep above4
Lead me where sedges murmur and the lush5
Flag-lances quiver o’er the foamy rush.6
Moss at my feet, and overhead the green7
The deepening green of beeches ; while below,8
The river-reach, through willows dimly seen,9
Laves leaf and lily with its murmurous flow.10
O fair, fair earth ! O breadth of summer skies !—11
The gladdest memory of my darkened eyes !12
You bring me flowers, the pale and fragrant bells,13
That when the meek-eyed violets are fled,14
Fold in blue mist the bracken-bowered dells,15
And float sweet music o’er the flower-dead ;16
While from some leafy arbour, clear and strong,17
A brown-winged lover lifts serener song.18
The beetle booming through the breezy air,19
The labouring bee, the feathered butterfly,20
Life lowly-lived, but life exceeding fair21
With myriad eyes are yet more poor than I,22
For darkness breaks in death, and purer sight23
Waits on the dawning of eternal light.24