IN the deep and quiet wildwood,Haunt of ever-blessed childhood,Where the grand old trees are throwingShadows o'er the streamlet's flowing,—Where no plaint of toil or sorrowComes the tender soul to harrow,Reigns the queen of summer flowers,Throned within the woodland bowers.
Angel blossoms nod her pleasure,And the low winds, tuned to measure,Chant sweet strains of music round her,Where the rosy gods have crowned her;Whispering breezes round her hover,Rainlets stir the leaves above her,And the bending rainbow measuresIn her lap its dewy treasures.
She's a winsome, fairy creature,With sweet smiles on every feature,And all worship and adore herAs the beautiful restorerOf the glorious wildwood flowers,In the vales and forest bowers,Where their cups are sweetly teemingWith incense of Poet dreaming,
