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[273] Unspoken homilies of peace
     Her daily life is preaching;
The still refreshment of the dew
     Is her unconscious teaching.

And never tenderer hand than hers
     Unknits the brow of ailing;
Her garments to the sick man's ear
     Have music in their trailing.

And when, in pleasant harvest moons,
     The youthful huskers gather,
Or sleigh-drives on the mountain ways
     Defy the winter weather,—

In sugar-camps, when south and warm
     The winds of March are blowing,
And sweetly from its thawing veins
     The maple's blood is flowing,—

In summer, where some lilied pond
     Its virgin zone is baring,
Or where the ruddy autumn fire
     Lights up the apple-paring,—

The coarseness of a ruder time
     Her finer mirth displaces,
A subtler sense of pleasure fills
     Each rustic sport she graces.

Her presence lends its warmth and health
     To all who come before it.
If woman lost us Eden, such
     As she alone restore it.

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Eden (1)
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