Mother Nature

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Mother Nature

Beautiful mother is busy all day,

So busy she neither can sing nor say;

But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow,

Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go⁠—

Motion, sight, and sound, and scent,

Weaving a royal, rich content.

When night is come, and her children sleep,

Beautiful mother her watch doth keep;

With glowing stars in her dusky hair

Down she sits to her music rare;

And her instrument that never fails,

Is the hearts and the throats of her nightingales.