So this tree, unto my mind,
Drew to earth the blessed sunshine, from the sky where it was shrined.
Tall the linden-tree, and near it
An old hawthorn also grew;
And wood-ivy, like a spirit,
Hovered dimly round the two,
Shaping thence that bower of beauty, which I sing of thus to you.
’Twas a bower for garden fitter
Than for any woodland wide!
Though a fresh and dewy glitter