V.
Reading edition
To M. H.
Our walk was far among the ancient trees: There was no road, nor any wood-man's path, But the thick umbrage, checking the wild growth Of weed sapling, on the soft green turf Beneath the branches of itself had made A track which brought us to a slip of lawn, And a small bed of water in the woods.
All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink On its firm margin, even as from a well Or some stone-bason which the Herdsman's hand Had shap'd for their refreshment, nor did sun Or wind from any quarter ever come But as a blessing to this calm recess, This glade of water and this one green field. The spot was made by Nature for herself: The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain Unknown to them; but it is beautiful, And if a man should plant his cottage near. Should sleep beneath the shelter of its tress, And blend its waters with his daily meal, He would so love it that in his death-hour Its image would survive among his thoughts, And, therefore, my sweet MARY, this still nook With all its beeches we have named from You.