It was a pleasant place, that early home!
The brook went singing by, leaving its foam
Among the flags and blue forget-me-not;
And in a nook, above that shelter’d spot,
For ages stood a gnarlèd hawthorn-tree;
And if you pass’d in spring-time, you might see
The knotted trunk all coronal’d with flowers,
That every breeze shook down in fragrant showers;
The earnest bees in odorous cells did lie,
Hymning their thanks with murmuring melody;