Where if a light air stray,
’Tis laden with hum of bees and scent of may.
Love and peace be thine, O spirit, for ever:
Serve thy sweet desire: despise endeavour.
And if it were only for thee, entrancèd river,
That scarce dost rock the lily on her airy stem,
Or stir a wave to murmur, or a rush to quiver;
Wer’t but for the woods, and summer asleep in them:
For you my bowers green,
My hedges of rose and woodbine, with walks between,