Classic Poem

VIII.—HOPE OF FUTURE COMMUNION WITH NATURE

I F e'er again my spirit be allow'd
Converse with nature in her chambers deep,
Where lone, and mantled with the rolling cloud,
She broods o'er new-born waters, as they leap
In sword-like flashes down the heathery steep
From caves of mystery;—if I roam once more
Where dark pines quiver to the torrent's roar,
And voiceful oaks respond!—shall I not reap
A more ennobling joy, a loftier power,
Than e'er was shed on life's more vernal hour,
From such communion?—yes! I then shall know,
That not in vain have sorrow, love, and thought,
Their long still work of preparation wrought,
For that more perfect sense of God reveal'd below.