. . .Close by the door, the apple tree, From many a fruitful bough, Its richest blossoms spread for me;— I feel their fragrance now! The robin and the oriole, (I loved them both the same), Their sweetest songs to me did troll,— I think they knew my name! 16A little brook, from hidden spring, Ran babbling down the hill; It seemed to me a living thing,— I hear its laughter still! Ah! ours was bliss without alloy, And friendship fondly leal;— I brought it human love and joy,— It turned my water-wheel! And, tired of play, what peace I found, As the bright clouds sailed by, Just to lie down upon the ground And look into the sky! Deep, deep, that look of calm delight, So free from care and pain;— Would God I might its holy height, Its sweet rep. . . Read More