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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Summer Bower</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is a place whither I've often gone<br>For peace, and found it, secret, hushed, and cool,<br>A beautiful recess in neighboring woods.<br>Trees of the soberest hues, thick-leaved and tall,<br>Arch it o'erhead and column it around,<br>Framing a covert, natural and wild,<br>Domelike and dim; though nowhere so enclosed<br>But that the gentlest breezes reach the spot<br>Unwearied and unweakened. Sound is here<br>A transient and unfrequent visitor;<br>Yet if the day be calm, not often then,<br>Whilst the high pines in one another's arms<br>Sleep, you may sometimes with unstartled ear<br>Catch the far fall of voices, how remote<br>You know not, and you do not care to know.<br>The turf is soft and green, but not a flower<br>Lights the recess, save one, star-shaped and bright --<br>I do not know its name -- which here and there<br>Gleams like a sapphire set in emerald.<br>A narrow opening in the branched roof,<br>A single one, is large enough to show,<br>With that half glimpse a dreamer loves so much,<br>The blue air and the blessing of the sky.<br>Thither I always bent my idle steps,<br>When griefs depressed, or joys disturbed my heart,<br>And found the calm I looked for, or returned<br>Strong with the quiet rapture in my soul.<br>   But one day,<br>One of those July days when winds have fled<br>One knows not whither, I, most sick in mind<br>With thoughts that shall be nameless, yet, no doubt,<br>Wrong, or at least unhealthful, since though dark<br>With gloom, and touched with discontent, they had<br>No adequate excuse, nor cause, nor end,<br>I, with these thoughts, and on this summer day,<br>Entered the accustomed haunt, and found for once<br>No medicinal virtue.<br>  Not a leaf<br>Stirred with the whispering welcome which I sought,<br>But in a close and humid atmosphere,<br>Every fair plant and implicated bough<br>Hung lax and lifeless. Something in the place,<br>Its utter stillness, the unusual heat,<br>And some more secret influence, I thought,<br>Weighed on the sense like sin. Above I saw,<br>Though not a cloud was visible in heaven,<br>The pallid sky look through a glazed mist<br>Like a blue eye in death.<br>  The change, perhaps,<br>Was natural enough; my jaundiced sight,<br>The weather, and the time explain it all:<br>Yet have I drawn a lesson from the spot,<br>And shrined it in these verses for my heart.<br>Thenceforth those tranquil precincts I have sought<br>Not less, and in all shades of various moods;<br>But always shun to desecrate the spot<br>By vain repinings, sickly sentiments,<br>Or inconclusive sorrows. Nature, though<br>Pure as she was in Eden when her breath<br>Kissed the white brow of Eve, doth not refuse,<br>In her own way and with a just reserve,<br>To sympathize with human suffering;<br>But for the pains, the fever, and the fret<br>Engendered of a weak, unquiet heart,<br>She hath no solace; and who seeks her when<br>These be the troubles over which he moans,<br>Reads in her unreplying lineaments<br>Rebukes, that, to the guilty consciousness,<br>Strike like contempt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Timrod">Henry Timrod</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409120" data-title="The Summer Bower de Henry Timrod" data-description="It is a place whither I've often gone
For peace, and found it, secret, hushed, and cool,
A beautiful recess in neighboring woods.
Trees of the soberest hues, thick-leaved and tall,
Arch it o'erhead and column it around,
Framing a covert, natural a..."></div>
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