Not only around our infancy 10
        Doth heaven with all its splendors lie;
        Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
        We Sinais, climb and know it not. 
    Over our manhood bend the skies;
      Against our fallen and traitor lives
    The great winds utter prophecies; 15
      With our faint hearts the mountain strives;
    Its arms outstretched, the druid wood
      Waits with its benedicite;
    And to our age’s drowsy blood
      Still shouts the inspiring sea. 20

    Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us;
      The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,
    The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,
      We bargain for the graves we lie in: 
    At the Devil’s booth are all things sold, 25
    Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold;
      For a cap and bells our lives we pay,
    Bubbles we buy with a whole soul’s tasking
      ’T is heaven alone that is given away,
    ’T is only God may be had for the asking; 30
    No price is set on the lavish summer;
    June may be had by the poorest comer.

    And what is so rare as a day in June? 
      Then, if ever, come perfect days;
    Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 35
      And over it softly her warm ear lays: 
    Whether we look, or whether we listen,
    We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
    Every clod feels a stir of might,
      An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 40
    And, groping blindly above it for light,
      Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
    The flush of life may well be seen
      Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
    The cowslip startles in meadows green, 45
      The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
    And there’s never a leaf nor a blade too mean
      To be some happy creature’s palace;
    The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
      Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 50
    And lets his illumined being o’errun
      With the deluge of summer it receives;
    His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
    And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
    He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,—­ 55
    In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

    Now is the high-tide of the year
      And whatever of life hath ebbed away
    Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer,
      Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; 60
    Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
    We are happy now, because God wills it;
    No matter how barren the past may have been,
    ’T is enough for us