Book III ——♦—— Summer.
Blessed, thrice blessed is the man with whom
The generous prodigality of nature,
The balm, the bliss, the beauty, and the bloom,
The bounteous providence in every feature,
Recall the good Creator to His creature,
Making all earth a fane, all heaven its dome!...
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool, a font;
Each cloud-capped mountain is a holy altar;
An organ breathes in every grove,
And the full heart's a psalter,
Rich in deep hymns of gratitude and love.
—Thomas Hood.
The poetry of Earth is never dead....
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.
—Keats.