Spring Quiet by Christina Rossetti
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."
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