That is a winsome plain; the woods are green,
Far stretching under the stars. There no storm of rain or snow,
15 Nor breath of frost nor blast of fire,
Nor fall of hail nor hoary frost,
Nor burning sun nor bitter cold,
Nor warm weather nor winter showers
Shall work any woe, but that winsome plain
20 Is wholesome and unharmed; in that happy land
Blossoms are blown. No bold hills nor mountains
There stand up steep; no stony cliffs