TIMID strangers, I can fancy
How amidst the hedge ye grew,
While the gusty winds of Autumn
Coloured leaves upon ye blew,
And the robin-redbreasts gaily
O'er your fragrant precincts flew.

I can see your mossy dwelling,
Where, beneath my native skies,
Hang the sprays of scarlet berries
Gorgeous with autumnal dyes,
While above and all around you
Hover rainbow-tinted flies.

I can see the little children
With blue eyes and locks of gold,
Hunting for you through the meadows,
Though the fitful breeze blow cold,
Shouting in their baby gladness
When they find thy buds unfold.

And I see the running streamlet,
Where in Spring the daisies bloom,
Ye are here, but they are absent,
Frightened at the coming gloom;
Ye are like the blossoms planted
Tenderly about a tomb.

And, just so, recall the moments
When, beneath the minster clang,
We, ere yet we knew a sorrow,
With the robin-redbreast sang,
And the sound of childish laughter
Through the peaceful meadows rang.

Other flowers perhaps are brighter,
Other scents as sweet may be,
None recall a happier pastime,
Or a scene more fair to see;
Therefore have I joined your beauty
With this simple melody.