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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 whitethorn
Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush. Full of fresh scents
Are the budding boughs 10 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. 20 'Here the sun shineth
Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, Though far off it be.'
Poetry of Christina Rossetti - Complete TextPoetry of Christina Rossetti E-Text contains the full text of Poetry of Christina Rossetti
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