O that I might be again
In the leafy solitudes
Where the ancient beauty broods
And the heart is healed of pain!
In a certain hidden place
Shined on by the evening star,
Where the woods and waters are
Dear as a beloved face.
’Tis a country to my mind:
All the hills and heights are green,
With clear meadows in between—
All the woods and ways are kind.
There the spider all day long
Spins her web with cunning skill,
And the cricket on the hill
Makes one music with his song.
Night and day a dreamy noise
Hovers ‘round it—night and day,
And the world is far away,
And the silence has a voice.
In the lowlands, in the deep
Solitude for miles around,
To a hushed and happy sound
Time, itself, has fallen asleep.
O that I were there again,
By the meadows drenched with dew!
Where the ancient dream comes true,
And the heart is healed of pain.