Dollie Radford (1858–1920)

AMID a crown of radiant hills,

A little wood with blossoms rare

Breathes sweetly, while the young lark trills

His new learnt melody and fills

The fragrant air.

Among its boughs the fresh winds play,

And, where the spreading branches part,

The sunlight drops from spray to spray,

And seeks the ferny streams which stray

Within its heart.

And there the wild bee fills his cells,

And murmurs through the golden hours,

And charmèd fancies and sweet spells,

Are woven in the tall blue-bells

And cuckoo-flowers.

There many a mossy bank entwined

With shining leaves awaits our choice,

Come swiftly love, my soul unbind

With thy dear looks, that it may find

Its prisoned voice.