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By the murmur of a spring
Or the least boughs rusteling;
By a daisy whose leaves spread
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree
She could more infuse in me,
Than all nature's beauties can
In some other wiser.
By her help I also now
Make this churlish place allow 40
Some things that may sweeten gladness,
In the very gall of sadness.
The dull loneness, the black shade
That these hanging vaults have made,
The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves;
This black den which rocks emboss
Overgrown with eldest moss
D 2
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