The bird that sang within this gnarled oak,
The waves that dallied with its leafy shade,
The mellow murmurs from its boughs that broke,
Their joyous tribute to my spirit paid.
No phantom rose to tell of future ill,
No grisly warning marr'd my prophet dreams—
My heart translucent as the leaping rill,
My thoughts all free and flashing at its beams.
Here is the grassy knoll I used to seek
At summer noon, beneath the spreading shade,