NatureHere Emerson gives us an extract from a long poem by James Beattie, The Minstrel; or, the Progress of Genius.
'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;
I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you:
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew:
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save.
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?
O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
when shall spring visit?
Here is another poem from Parnassus, the anthology compiled by Ralph Waldo Emerson in 1874 (pdf).
{source. There's a long article on Beattie here.}
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