The bubbling spring, the mossy pebbles near,
The stunted beech, they all are justly dear.
Like-minded birds—so I am not alone—
Linger as lovingly around the spot,
Whose subtle charm such mighty spell has thrown,
That wander where I will, ’tis ne’er forgot;
Here, child and bird learned first to love the sky,
The tree, the spring, the grass whereon I lie.
When timid Spring warms with her smile the way,
With all-impatient steps I hasten here;