Classic Poem

I cannot view the bloom upon the rose,
—But oh, the scent is very dear to me;
And I can feel the cooling breeze that blows
—Thro' pearl-tipped peaks of hills I cannot see.

I cannot see the wild birds on the wing,
—But I can hear the swallows in the eaves;
I hear the song that nature has to sing—
—The gentle music of the rustling leaves.

I cannot see the children going by,
—But I can hear their laughter as they pass;
I cannot see the sunset in the sky,
—But I can feel the swaying of the grass.

I cannot see the moonlight on the sea,
—But I can hear the waves beat on the shore;
I feast upon all nature's melody
—And thank my God and do not ask for more.

I cannot view the bloom upon the rose,
—But oh, the scent is very dear to me;
And I can feel the cooling breeze that blows
—Thro' pearl-tipped peaks of hills I cannot see.

I cannot see the wild birds on the wing,
—But I can hear the swallows in the eaves;
I hear the song that nature has to sing—
—The gentle music of the rustling leaves.

I cannot see the children going by,
—But I can hear their laughter as they pass;
I cannot see the sunset in the sky,
—But I can feel the swaying of the grass.

I cannot see the moonlight on the sea,
—But I can hear the waves beat on the shore;
I feast upon all nature's melody
—And thank my God and do not ask for more.