My Eyes Make Pictures.

"My eyes make pictures, when they are shut."             COLERIDGE.     Fair morn, I bring my greeting         To lofty skies, and pale,     Save where cloud-shreds are fleeting         Before the driving gale,     The weary branches tossing,         Careless of autumn's grief,     Shadow and sunlight crossing         On each earth-spotted leaf.     I will escape their grieving;         And so I close my eyes,     And see the light boat heaving         Where the billows fall and rise;     I see the sunlight glancing         Upon its silvery sail,     Where a youth's wild heart is dancing,         And a maiden growing pale.     And I am quietly pacing         The smooth stones o'er and o'er,     Where the merry waves are chasing         Each other to the shore.     Words come to me while listening         Where the rocks and waters meet,     And the little shells are glistening         In sand-pools at my feet.     Away! the white sail gleaming!         Again I close my eyes,     And the autumn light is streaming         From pale blue cloudless skies;     Upon the lone hill falling         'Mid the sound of heather-bells,     Where the running stream is calling         Unto the silent wells.     Along the pathway lonely,         My horse and I move slow;     No living thing, save only         The home-returning crow.     And the moon, so large, is peering         Up through the white cloud foam;     And I am gladly nearing         My father's house, my home.     As I were gently dreaming         The solemn trees look out;     The hills, the waters seeming         In still sleep round about;     And in my soul are ringing         Tones of a spirit-lyre,     As my beloved were singing         Amid a sister-choir.     If peace were in my spirit,         How oft I'd close my eyes,     And all the earth inherit,         And all the changeful skies!     Thus leave the sermon dreary,         Thus leave the lonely hearth;     No more a spirit weary--         A free one of the earth!