Christina Rossetti — Spring Quiet

Gone were but the Winter,          Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert         Where the birds sing; Where in the white-thorn          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."