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!