Page:Carroll - Phantasmagoria and other poems (1869).djvu/193



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 yon 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.