When the heart has been fretted by worldly stings;
And to watch the colours that flit and pass,
With insect-wings, through the wavy grass;
And the silvery gleams o’er the ash-tree’s bark,
Borne in with a breeze through the foliage dark.
Joyous and far shall our wanderings be,
As the flight of birds o’er the glittering sea:
To the woods, to the dingles where violets blow,
We will bear no memory of earthly woe.
But if, by the forest-brook, we meet