Song

Take me from these dreary shades,
Lift me to some softer morn,
Where the laughing light invades
That old silence of the glades
Which was born when trees were born;
Where the docile winds take care
Not to ruffle any brook,
Lest queen-clouds that pace the air
Should not find a mirror there
When they pace, and pause, and look;
Where the dazzling nights endure
Till the day has passed its spring,
And where starlight is so pure
That no bird is ever sure
Whether it should sleep or sing.
Somewhere there is never rain,
Never trouble in the air,
Not a sigh of fear or pain,—
Take me to that land again;
I am sure I once was there.