Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/180

120 O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep

Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;

And to soft slumbers that did gently steep

Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers

And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;

Two burning months let summer overleap,

And, coming back with Her who will be ours,

Into thy bosom we again shall creep.