It seemed that from the remotest seat _65
Of the white mountain's waste
To the bright flower beneath our feet,
A magic circle traced;—
A spirit interfused around,
A thinking, silent life; _70
To momentary peace it bound
Our mortal nature's strife;—
And still, it seemed, the centre of
The magic circle there,
Was one whose being filled with love _75
The breathless atmosphere.
Were not the crocuses that grew
Under that ilex-tree
As beautiful in scent and hue
As ever fed the bee? _80
We stood beneath the pools that lie
Under the forest bough,
And each seemed like a sky
Gulfed in a world below;
A purple firmament of light _85
Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,
And clearer than the day—
In which the massy forests grew
As in the upper air, _90
More perfect both in shape and hue
Than any waving there.
Like one beloved the scene had lent
To the dark water's breast
Its every leaf and lineament _95
With that clear truth expressed;
There lay far glades and neighbouring lawn,
And through the dark green crowd
The white sun twinkling like the dawn
Under a speckled cloud. _100
Sweet views, which in our world above
Can never well be seen,
Were imaged by the water's love
Of that fair forest green.