Or just above the sleepy valley's heart,
Or higher up the grasses tall to part—
Queen of the fields! thou reign'st with witching grace.
If shine, 'tis well; if shade, thou murmur'st not,
For thou hast learned of nature patient trust—
Glad of the cloudless light all golden wrought,
Nor sad if shadows fall, as shadows must—
All these shall flee before thy floral reign,
And leave fresh charms throughout thy wide domain.