From The Vision of Sir Launfal
And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then if ever come perfect days;
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays.
Whether we look, or whether we listen
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten.
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there s never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace.
— James Russell Lowell (1819-1891)
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