A floral-dyed, mosaic ground,
A twilight shade and vista solemn
In all these sylvan haunts are found.
And now this fragile garland weaving
While ebbs the musing tide away,
As one a sacred temple leaving,
Some tribute on its shrine would lay;
I bless the scenes whose tranquil beauty
Have cheered me like the sense of youth,
And freshened lonely tasks of duty,