Further in Summer than the Birds –
Pathetic from the Grass –
A Minor Nation celebrates
It’s unobtrusive Mass –
No Ordinance be seen –
So gradual the Grace
A pensive Custom it becomes
Enlarging Loneliness –
‘Tis Audiblest, at Dusk –
When Day’s attempt is done –
And Nature nothing waits to do
But terminate in Tune –
Nor difference it knows
Of Cadence, or of Pause –
But simultaneous as Same –
The Service emphacize –
Nor know I when it cease –
At Candles, it is here –
When Sunrise is – that it is not –
Than this, I know no more –
The Earth has many keys –
Where Melody is not
Is the Unknown Peninsula –
Beauty – is Nature’s Fact –
But Witness for Her Land –
And Witness for Her Sea –
The Cricket is Her utmost
Of Elegy, to Me –
