The Poet's Reward
Thanks untraced to lips unknown
Shall greet me like the odors blown
From unseen meadows newly mown,
Or lilies floating in some pond,
Wood fringed, the wayside gaze beyond ;
The traveler owns to grateful sense
Of Sweetness near, he knows not whence,
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare
The benediction of the air.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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