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The beauty of the trees, the
softness of the air,
the fragrance of the grass, speaks to me.
The summit of the mountain, the thunder of the sky,
speaks to me.
The faintness of the stars,the trail of the sun,
the strength of fire,and the life that never goes away,
they speak to me.
And my heart soars.
(Chief Dan George)
By the lakes that thus
outspread
their sad waters, sad and chilly,
With the snows of the lolling lily,
by the mountains - near the river,
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,
By the grey woods, by the swamp,
where the toad and newt encamp,
by the dismal tarns and pools,
where dwell the Gouls.
By each spot the most unholy,
by each nook most melancholy,
there the traveller meets, aghast,
sheeted memories of the Past.
Shrouded forms that start and sigh,
as they pass the wanderer by.
White-robed forms of friends long given;
In agony, to the Earth - and Heaven.
(Edgar
Allen Poe, Dreamland)
Disclaimer
© Dr. Martin Hoppe 2002
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