Brief moments nestled in the vale,
Where sunbeams gild the dew,
A merry wind sings sweet and frail,
Yet speaks to all we knew.

There nature weaves her quiet spell,
As waters dance in glee;
Each fern, each flower, each tiny bell,
Gives whispers back to me.

Oh love, if hearts can find their way,
In realms of verdant art,
Then nature’s heart shall ever sway
The music of the heart!

I tread along those winding ways,
Where all the sunbeams play;
And linger soft in summer’s rays,
To greet another day.

— Jones Very

• Jones Very