Spring Quiet

Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing;

Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush.

Full of fresh scents Are the budding boughs 10 Arching high over A cool green house:

Full of sweet scents, And whispering air Which sayeth softly: ‘We spread no snare;

‘Here dwell in safety, Here dwell alone, With a clear stream And a mossy stone. 20

‘Here the sun shineth Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, Though far off it be.’