Bending with unveilèd face,

Fills him in her divine employ

With her own majestic joy.

Up the fielded slopes at morn,

Where light wefts of shadow pass,

Films upon the bending corn,

I shall sweep the purple grass.

Sun-crowned heights and mossy woods,

And the outer solitudes,

Mountain-valleys, dim with pine,

Shall be home and haunt of mine.

I shall search in crannied hollows,

Where the sunlight scarcely follows,

And the secret forest brook

Murmurs, and from nook to nook

Forever downward curls and cools,

Frothing in the bouldered pools.

Many a noon shall find me laid

In the pungent balsam shade,

Where sharp breezes spring and shiver

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