Poem by Henry Timrod

Sonnets. 6. I Scarcely Grieve, O Nature! at the Lot

I scarcely grieve, O Nature! at the lot
That pent my life within a city's bounds,
And shut me from thy sweetest sights and sounds.
Perhaps I had not learned, if some lone cot
Had nursed a dreamy childhood, what the mart
Taught me amid its turmoil; so my youth
Had missed full many a stern but wholesome truth.
Here, too, O Nature! in this haunt of Art,
Thy power is on me, and I own thy thrall.
There is no unimpressive spot on earth!
The beauty of the stars is over all,
And Day and Darkness visit every hearth.
Clouds do not scorn us:  yonder factory's smoke
Looked like a golden mist when morning broke.

1. Vox et Præterea Nihil
2. Hymn Sung at the Consecration of Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S.C.
3. Sonnets. 12. What Gossamer Lures Thee Now? What Hope, What Name
4. Sonnets. 4. They Dub Thee Idler, Smiling Sneeringly
5. The Unknown Dead

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