Around the lattice creep the pure white roses,
  And one light bough rests gently on the pane,
  The diamond pane, through which the angel train
Gaze on the sister saint who there reposes;
  The moonlight silvers softly o’er it now;
And round the eaves the south wind whispers lowly,
  Waving the leaves like curls on maiden’s brow;
The peace and stillness make the place seem holy.

The little garden where she daily strays,
  Sleeps like the precinct of a place enchanted;
  And many a flower by her own dear hands planted,
Waves mystically ’neath the starry rays. 
  There is such strange still beauty in the spot,
That in the misty moonshine oft it seems
  A vision that the waking eye sees not,
But some fair plesaunce blooming up in dreams.

The dew distilled perfumes richly rise,
  And float unseen about the silent air,
  Breathing a balmy sweetness everywhere,
Like some blest secret fresh from Paradise;
  Upon the soul dim thoughts of Eden press,
Within the stillness of this inner shrine,
  Where Nature has unveil’d her loveliness,
And to the angels bared her soul divine.

There is no sound upon the ear of Night;
  The distant watch-dog’s bay hath sunk to rest;
  The thrush is brooding o’er his quiet nest;
And the light clouds sweep on with noiseless flight. 
  O heart, why beat so wildly—­she will hear,
And start from slumber in serene surprise—­
  Away! away! why longer linger here
To mar the silence with thy swelling sighs!

SONNET.

O Cloud so golden, stealing o’er the sky,
Like pensive thought across a virgin mind,
Scarce sadder than the sunshine left behind;
Would that o’er heaven with thee my soul could fly,
Scanning Earth’s beauty with a lover’s eye,
Tracing the waving waters and the woods,
Their sleepy shades and silent solitudes,
Where all the summer through I long to lie. 
O Cloud so golden stealing o’er the sky,
Sail’d I within thy bosom o’er heaven’s main,
Methinks that, gazing downward on the glory,
The liquid loveliness of sea and plain,
Of mountain, isle, and leafy promontory,
My soul would melt and fall again in rain.

FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER.

My little bark glides steadily along,
  Still and unshaken as a summer dream;
  And never falls the oar into the stream,
For ’tis but morning, and the current strong;
  So let the ripples bear me as they will;
Sweet, sweet is Life, and every sound is song;
  Sorrow lies sleeping, and Joy sends me still
                      Swift floating down the River.

Bright shines the sun athwart the linden-trees;
  One little cloud alone steals o’er the sky,
  As o’er the widening stream below steal I,
Fann’d by the same faint perfume-laden breeze;
  Bird-music answers sweetly through the air,
The unheard warbling of heart melodies;
  Thus go I dreaming, free from faintest care,
                      Swift floating down the River.