How Still, How Happy!

How still, how happy! Those are words     That once would scarce agree together;     I loved the plashing of the surge,     The changing heaven the breezy weather,     More than smooth seas and cloudless skies     And solemn, soothing, softened airs     That in the forest woke no sighs     And from the green spray shook no tears.     How still, how happy! now I feel     Where silence dwells is sweeter far     Than laughing mirth's most joyous swell     However pure its raptures are.     Come, sit down on this sunny stone:     'Tis wintry light o'er flowerless moors,     But sit, for we are all alone     And clear expand heaven's breathless shores.     I could think in the withered grass     Spring's budding wreaths we might discern;     The violet's eye might shyly flash     And young leaves shoot among the fern.     It is but thought, full many a night     The snow shall clothe those hills afar     And storms shall add a drearier blight     And winds shall wage a wilder war,     Before the lark may herald in     Fresh foliage twined with blossoms fair     And summer days again begin     Their glory, haloed crown to wear.     Yet my heart loves December's smile     As much as July's golden beam;     Then let us sit and watch the while     The blue ice curdling on the stream.