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I come To this sweet place for quiet. Every tree, And bush, and fragrant flower, and hilly path, And thymy mound that flings unto the winds Its morning incense, is my friend.

were thick leaves above me and around, And low sweet sighs, like those of childhood's sleep, Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound As of soft showers on water;—dark and deep Lay the oak shadows o'er the turf, so still, They seem'd but pictur'd glooms: a hidden rill Made music, such as haunts us in a dream, Under the fern-tufts; and a tender gleam