I
Deep in the sloping forest that surroundsThe head of a green valley that I know,Spread the fair gardens and ancestral groundsOf Bellinglise, the beautiful chateau.Through shady groves and fields of unmown grass,It was my joy to come at dusk and see,Filling a little pond’s untroubled glass,Its antique towers and mouldering masonry.Oh, should I fall to-morrow, lay me here,That o’er my tomb, with each reviving year,Wood-flowers may blossom and the wood-doves croon;And lovers by that unrecorded place,Passing, may pause, and cling a little space,Close-bosomed, at the rising of the moon.