Poem by Alexander Smith

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Beauty still walketh on the earth and air,
Our present sunsets are as rich in gold
As ere the Iliad's music was out-rolled;
The roses of the Spring are ever fair,
'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair,
And the deep sea still foams its music old.
So, if we are at all divinely souled,
This beauty will unloose our bonds of care.
'Tis pleasant, when blue skies are o'er us bending
Within old starry-gated Poesy,
To meet a soul set to no worldly tune,
Like thine, sweet Friend! Oh, dearer this to me
Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon,
Or noble music with a golden ending.

1. There Have Been Vast Displays of Critic Wit
2. I Cannot Deem Why Men Toil So for Fame
3. Joy Like a Stream Flows Through the Christmas-Streets
4. Blaavin
5. Inversnaid

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