Written In Very Early Youth

  CALM is all nature as a resting wheel.
  The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
  The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
  Is cropping audibly his later meal:
  Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal
  O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
  Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
  Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal
  That grief for which the senses still supply
  Fresh food; for only then, when memory 
  Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain
  Those busy cares that would allay my pain;
  Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
  The officious touch that makes me droop again.