In The Greenwood

I fly like a bird to my home that lies Far in the west, by a fair green hollow. The straight, fine, meadow-line runs with the skies: A clear horizon for sight to follow, To leave, then rest where the zenith’s blue, Blue of the bluest, like my love’s eyes!

I leave the noise of the busy mart; The small stream’s mouth with its shining shallows; I go with its going; till here, apart, Hid by rushes and low white mallows, Hushed in its singing it lieth deep-- Deep of the deepest, like my love’s heart!

I will sleep and dream while the shadows move And the slant of the sunlight falleth yellow. I will wake to the note of the greenwood dove As it calleth low to its distant fellow:-- Where life of the fields and the woods is pure, Pure of the purest, like my love’s love!