"Now all the woodlands round, and these fair vales,
And broad plains that from their borders stretch
Away to the blue Unica, and run
Along the Ozark range, and far beyond
Find the still groves that shut Itasca in,
But more than all, these old Miami Woods,
Are robed in golden exhalations, dim
As half-remembered dreams, and beautiful
As aught or Valambrosa, or the plains
Of Arcady, by fabling poets sung.
The night is fill'd with murmurs and the day
Distills a subtle atmosphere that lulls
The senses to a half repose, and hangs
A rosy twilight over nature, like
The night of Norway summers, when the sun
Skims the horizon through the tedious months."

--From Poets of Ohio.

It is not strange that you do not find yourself recalling fair
mornings spent among the far-famed Alps. True, you do not feel
that awe-inspiring sublimity that their snow-clad peaks produce,
but as you joyfully gaze out over the quiet beauty of these fair
Ohio hills and vales clothed in magnificent stretches of golden
harvest field and green forest, through which lead winding roads
and sinuous streams, you ask yourself this perplexing question:
Where have I ever beheld a more lovely or more quiet landscape
than this? To be sure it is not thrilling, but sweet and
soothing, like the view you get at Intervale, above North Conway
in New Hampshire. This fair picture brought to our memory the