Let me give something!—though my spring be done
Let me give something!—though my spring be done,
Give to the children, ere their summertime:
Though stirred with grief, like rain let fall my rhyme
And tell of one whose aim was much, of one
Whose strife was this: that in his thought should be
Some power of wind, some drenching of the sea,
Some drift of stars across a darkling coast,
Imagination, insight, memory, awe,
And dear New England nature first and last,—
Whose end was high, whose work was well-begun:
Of one who from his window looked and saw
His little hemlocks in the morning sun,
And while he gazed, into his heart almost
The peace that passeth understanding passed.
Give to the children, ere their summertime:
Though stirred with grief, like rain let fall my rhyme
And tell of one whose aim was much, of one
Whose strife was this: that in his thought should be
Some power of wind, some drenching of the sea,
Some drift of stars across a darkling coast,
Imagination, insight, memory, awe,
And dear New England nature first and last,—
Whose end was high, whose work was well-begun:
Of one who from his window looked and saw
His little hemlocks in the morning sun,
And while he gazed, into his heart almost
The peace that passeth understanding passed.
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