The Poet
He dwells apart, the birds and bees
Tell him their sweetest mysteries;
From nature, tender, good, and true,
He garners wisdom's honey-dew.
The sky, the mountain, and the mead
Are precious books where he may read,
Writ in the sunshine, on the sod,
The word, the thought, the love of God.
Tell him their sweetest mysteries;
From nature, tender, good, and true,
He garners wisdom's honey-dew.
The sky, the mountain, and the mead
Are precious books where he may read,
Writ in the sunshine, on the sod,
The word, the thought, the love of God.
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