Spring favors not deep thought; but rather sows
The seeds that ripen later into thought.
The soul seems nebulous, and scarcely feels
Its own existence in the universal joy;
But, basking in the sunlight, drinks deep draughts
Of this new Wine of life
With which all nature seems intoxicate.
MAN lacks resource;
The Great Designer never does.
Man cannot pierce the unexplored,
Beyond the confines of the universe,
To form creations of his own.
At best we only imitate God's works:
He ne'er repeats his own.
Are there two leaves alike in all the wood?
Two streams that run with equal murmur to the sea?
Two birds whose warblings are unvarying harmony?
We part to-day; God wills it so.
And though both journey o'er the hill,
Your path cannot be mine.
Our lives are like two ivy vines
That, clambering o'er the oak,