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Spring Quiet
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Christina Rossetti (1847)
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Gone were but the Winter,
  Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
  Where the birds sing.

Where in the whitethom
  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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