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 athrush,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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