The Prairie.

The skies are blue above my head,         The prairie green below,     And flickering o'er the tufted grass         The shifting shadows go,     Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds         Fleck white the tranquil skies,     Black javelins darting where aloft         The whirring pheasant flies.     A glimmering plain in drowsy trance         The dim horizon bounds,     Where all the air is resonant         With sleepy summer sounds, -     The life that sings among the flowers,         The lisping of the breeze,     The hot cicala's sultry cry,         The murmurous dream of bees.     The butterfly - a flying flower -         Wheels swift in flashing rings,     And flutters round his quiet kin,         With brave flame-mottled wings.     The wild Pinks burst in crimson fire         The Phlox' bright clusters shine,     And Prairie-Cups are swinging free         To spill their airy wine.     And lavishly beneath the sun,         In liberal splendour rolled,     The Fennel fills the dipping plain         With floods of flowery gold;     And widely weaves the Iron-Weed         A woof of purple dyes     Where Autumn's royal feet may tread         When bankrupt Summer flies.     In verdurous tumult far away         The prairie-billows gleam,     Upon their crests in blessing rests         The noontide's gracious beam.     Low quivering vapours steaming dim         The level splendours break     Where languid Lilies deck the rim         Of some land-circled lake.     Far in the east like low-hung clouds         The waving woodlands lie;     Far in the west the glowing plain         Melts warmly in the sky.     No accent wounds the reverent air,         No footprint dints the sod,     Lone in the light the prairie lies         Rapt in a dream of God.     ILLINOIS, 1858.