5 10 15 'T is the Spring's largess, which she scatters now To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, Though most hearts never understand The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; The eyes thou givest me Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, Where, as the breezes pass, The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 20 Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 25 That from the distance sparkle through Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Who, from the dark old tree Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, And I, secure in childish piety, Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from heaven, which he could bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! Thou teachest me to deem 5 More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 10 Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, And with a child's undoubting wisdom look On all these living pages of God's book. EDGAR ALLAN POE ISRAFEL In Heaven a spirit doth dwell "Whose heart-strings are a lute;" None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy stars (so legends tell) Tottering above In her highest noon, |