To Nature
It may indeed be fantasy when IEssay to draw from all created thingsDeep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings;And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lieLessons of love and earnest piety.So let it be; and if the wide world ringsIn mock of this belief, it bringsNor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.So will I build my altar in the fields,And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yieldsShall be the incense I will yield to Thee,Thee only God! and thou shalt not despiseEven me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.
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