I
Nature: Mother Nature
Nature, the gentlest mother,Impatient of no child,The feeblest or the waywardest,—Her admonition mild
In forest and the hillBy traveller is heard,Restraining rampant squirrelOr too impetuous bird.
How fair her conversation,A summer afternoon,—Her household, her assembly;And when the sun goes down
Her voice among the aislesIncites the timid prayerOf the minutest cricket,The most unworthy flower.
When all the children sleepShe turns as long awayAs will suffice to light her lamps;Then, bending from the sky
With infinite affectionAnd infiniter care,Her golden finger on her lip,Wills silence everywhere.