The cherry-blooms are swept and thinned;

In yonder swaying elms the wind

Is charging gust on gust.

But here there is no stir at all;

The ministers of sun and shadow

Horde all the perfumes of the meadow

Behind a grassy wall.

An infant rivulet wind-free

Adown the guarded hollow sets,

Over whose brink the violets

Are nodding peacefully.

[19]

From pool to pool it prattles by;

The flashing swallows dip and pass,

Above the tufted marish grass,

And here at rest am I.

I care not for the old distress,

Nor if to-morrow bid me moan;

To-day is mine, and I have known

An hour of blessedness.

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