The Beauty of Nature.

Oh bud and leaf and blossom,         How beautiful they are!     Than last year's vernal season         'Tis lovelier by far;     This earth was never so enchanting         Nor half so bright before -     But so I've rhapsodized, in springtime,         For forty years or more.     What luxury of color         On shrub and plant and vine,     From pansies' richest purple         To pink of eglantine;     From buttercups to "johnny-jump-ups,"         With deep cerulean eyes,     Responding to their modest surname         In violet surprise.     Sometimes I think the sunlight         That gilds the emerald hills,     And makes Aladdin dwellings         Of dingy domiciles,     Is surplus beauty overflowing         That Heaven cannot hold -     The topaz glitter, or the jacinth,         The glare of streets of gold.     In "Cedar Hill," the city         Of "low green tents" of sod,     I read the solemn record         Of those gone home to God;     While from their hallowed dust arising         The fragrant lilies grow     As if their life was all the sweeter         For those who sleep below.     And so 'tis not in sadness         I dwell upon the thought,     When I am dead and buried         That I shall be forgot.     Because the germ of reproduction         Doth this poor body hold,     Perchance to add to nature's beauty         A rose above the mold.