IN the deep and quiet wildwood, Haunt of ever-blessed childhood, Where the grand old trees are throwing Shadows o'er the streamlet's flowing,— Where no plaint of toil or sorrow Comes 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 measures In her lap its dewy treasures.
She's a winsome, fairy creature, With sweet smiles on every feature, And all worship and adore her As the beautiful restorer Of the glorious wildwood flowers, In the vales and forest bowers, Where their cups are sweetly teeming With incense of Poet dreaming,
