Christina Rossetti: Poems

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.'