Green in light are the hills, and a calm wind flowing
Filleth the void with a flood of the fragrance of spring.
Wings in this mansion of life are coming and going;
Voices of unseen loveliness carol and sing.
Colored with buds of delight the boughs are swaying;
Beauty walks in the woods, and wherever she rove
Flowers from wintry sleep, her enchantment obeying,
Stir in the deep of her dream, reawaken to love.
Oh, now begone sullen care!—this light is my seeing;
I am the Palace, and mine are its windows and walls;
Daybreak is come, and life from the darkness of being
Springs, like a child from the womb, when the lonely one