Analysis of Glengariffe

OH LOVELY Picture, thou art one to haunt
The mind in feverish moods of discontent,
When noise and multitudes afflict the heart
With bitter sense of personal nothingness.
How beautiful the summer solitude
Of that lone water, which the mountain heights
Girdle as if from love ! How sweet it were
To spend an August day in that small wood,
And listen to the sea! A glorious noon,
The earth, the heaven, the year, all in their prime,
When not a leaf has fallen from the trees,
And the rich green is deepest: scarce the sun,
Though shining as he shines on harvest’s month,
Can penetrate the shadowy boughs, and give
Colour to small bright myriads of wild flowers,
That fill the grass. And when a shower falls
Amid the upper boughs, like music playing,
You hear, but feel it not. The sunny spots
Are where some tree, or time or thunder stricken,
Clad in gray moss, not foliage, leaves a place
Filled by the sunshine. Strange to think that death
Thus lets in light and life. Thou lovely bay,
I dream of beauty which I have not seen,
And yet I know: thanks to the art divine
Which haunts the eye with summer; fills the mind
With natural love, and sweet and gentle thoughts,
Morning, and flowers; green grass, and aged trees—
All that can soothe, and calm, and purify,
E’en ’mid a busy wilderness of streets.