How Still, How Happy!
How
still,
how
happy!
Those
are
words
That
once
would
scarce
agree
together;
I
loved
the
plashing
of
the
surge,
The
changing
heaven
the
breezy
weather,
More
than
smooth
seas
and
cloudless
skies
And
solemn,
soothing,
softened
airs
That
in
the
forest
woke
no
sighs
And
from
the
green
spray
shook
no
tears.
How
still,
how
happy!
now
I
feel
Where
silence
dwells
is
sweeter
far
Than
laughing
mirth's
most
joyous
swell
However
pure
its
raptures
are.
Come,
sit
down
on
this
sunny
stone:
'Tis
wintry
light
o'er
flowerless
moors,
But
sit,
for
we
are
all
alone
And
clear
expand
heaven's
breathless
shores.
I
could
think
in
the
withered
grass
Spring's
budding
wreaths
we
might
discern;
The
violet's
eye
might
shyly
flash
And
young
leaves
shoot
among
the
fern.
It
is
but
thought,
full
many
a
night
The
snow
shall
clothe
those
hills
afar
And
storms
shall
add
a
drearier
blight
And
winds
shall
wage
a
wilder
war,
Before
the
lark
may
herald
in
Fresh
foliage
twined
with
blossoms
fair
And
summer
days
again
begin
Their
glory,
haloed
crown
to
wear.
Yet
my
heart
loves
December's
smile
As
much
as
July's
golden
beam;
Then
let
us
sit
and
watch
the
while
The
blue
ice
curdling
on
the
stream.