'Tis said that when 
The hands of men 
Tamed this primeval wood, 
And hoary trees with groans of woe, 
Like warriors by an unknown foe, 
Were in their strength subdued, 
The virgin Earth Gave instant birth 
To springs that ne'er did flow 
That in the sun Did rivulets run, 
And all around rare flowers did blow 
The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale 
And the queenly lily adown the dale 
(Whom the sun and the dew 
And the winds did woo), 
With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew. 

So when in tears 
The love of years 
Is wasted like the snow, 
And the fine fibrils of its life 
By the rude wrong of instant strife 
Are broken at a blow 
Within the heart 
Do springs upstart 
Of which it doth now know, 
And strange, sweet dreams, 
Like silent streams 
That from new fountains overflow, 
With the earlier tide 
Of rivers glide 
Deep in the heart whose hope has died-- 
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,-- 
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow 
Sweet flowers, ere long, 
The rare and radiant flowers of song!