Stillness

I love the stillness of the wood:
I love the music of the rill:
I love to couch in pensive mood
Upon some silent hill. -

Scarce heard, beneath you arching trees,
The silver-crested ripples pass;
And, like a mimic brook, the breeze
Whispers among the grass. -

Here from the world I win release,
Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,
Break in to mar the holy peace
Of this great solitude. -