I am a beagle lover

Winding each way gently on the visible space

Ripples the rooted landscape into a smile

Rises like the soft waters of a waterfall.

Around the cool cold breezes of the middle earth.

Linger, the pale tornado at another birth,

Summoning into the earth from hoary blossom,

Ripens by little herbs her tender majesty,

Cools the thirsty fainting waste with maternal life.

Wake an aged man by his own beloved work,

Looking to hoary age a perpetual dream;

Whether the world with her visible banks to last,

Unto the sluggish spirit of her mighty breath,

And, listening to the rustling of her veins,

Her soft forehead to the waft of an anchorite!

Lord of her melody so like thy native air!

Despot among her shadowy eternal stars

Shines as a glittering scene in infinite groves.

Whether the bright smile of brightness, as the sun

Shines as a glittering scene in infinite light;

Winding each way gently on the visible fame

That falls into the soul with melancholy waves.

The hour has made their memories of its form,

Its silent loveliness, the twilight of our worth—

The glorious record of an aged flower.

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