Prelude to the Styrian Lake

A single day! A single nook of earth!
O how the heart doth magnify all things
Embraced within her soft and shadowy rings!
What a huge niche to shrine a single mirth,
A joy obscure as is the Styrian lake,
Vague as the odorous breath of pinewood brake! —
Priest of a sylvan chapel, I would call
The world-worn pilgrim hither to take breath,
Joining in this my weekday ritual,
Of nature mixed and our most holy Faith.
If it be worth no more, at least it gives
Sweet proof how full the green earth is of glee:
My days are all like this; so let it be
A sample of the life a poet lives.