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 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.

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