A birth-place more secure!
The berry of the wood
Blooms with new lustre, 'neath the golden ray
Of the warm sunshine, resting by the way,
Where the green forests brood.
The old and reverend trees,
And clustering thickets, now are gladly sought
By him who from the heat would stray remote,
And rest his limbs at ease.
The smell of new-mown hay