I
How warm this woodland wild Recess!
       &nbspLove surely hath been breathing here;
       &nbspAnd this sweet bed of heath, my dear!
Swells up, then sinks with faint caress,
       &nbspAs if to have you yet more near.


II
Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
       &nbspOn sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills,
       &nbspWhere quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float here and there, like things astray,
       &nbspAnd high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.


III
No voice as yet had made the air
       &nbspBe music with your name; yet why
       &nbspThat asking look? that yearning sigh?
That sense of promise every where?
       &nbspBeloved! flew your spirit by?

IV
As when a mother doth explore
       &nbspThe rose-mark on her long-lost child,
       &nbspI met, I loved you, maiden mild!
As whom I long had loved before—
       &nbspSo deeply had I been beguiled.

V
You stood before me like a thought,
       &nbspA dream remembered in a dream.
       &nbspBut when those meek eyes first did seem
To tell me, Love within you wrought—
       &nbspO Greta, dear domestic stream!

VI
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
       &nbspHas not Love's whisper evermore
       &nbspBeen ceaseless, as thy gentle roar?
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
       &nbspDear under-song in clamor's hour.