This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,-
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!
Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered through the village
sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspecpected violets
Within the fields lie low,
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago.
Nor tie to earths to come,
Nor action new,
Except through this extent,
The realm of you.
A door just opened on a street-
I, lost, was passing by-
An instant's width of warmth disclosed,
And weath, and company
The door as sudden shut, and I
I, lost was passing by,-
Lost doubly, byt by contrast most,
Enlightening misery.