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Amid a crown of radiant hills,
A little wood with blossoms rare
Breathes sweetly, while the young lark trills
His new learnt melody and fills
The fragrant air.


Among its boughs the fresh winds play,
And, where the spreading branches part,
The sun-light drops from spray to spray,
And seeks the ferny streams which stray
Within its heart.


And there the wild bee fills his cells,
And murmurs through the golden hours,
And charm├Ęd fancies and sweet spells,
Are woven in the tall blue-bells
And cuckoo-flowers.


There many a mossy bank entwined
With shining leaves awaits our choice,
Come swiftly love, my soul unbind
With thy dear looks, that it may find
Its prisoned voice.