Spring Quiet
Gone were but the Winter,Come were but the Spring,I would go to a covertWhere the birds sing;
Where in the whitethornSingeth a thrush,And a robin singsIn the holly-bush.
Full of fresh scentsAre the budding boughs 10Arching high overA cool green house:
Full of sweet scents,And whispering airWhich sayeth softly:‘We spread no snare;
‘Here dwell in safety,Here dwell alone,With a clear streamAnd a mossy stone. 20
‘Here the sun shinethMost shadily;Here is heard an echoOf the far sea,Though far off it be.’