I SET apart a day for wandering；
    I heard the woodlands ring,
    The hidden white-throat sing,
    And the harmonic West,
    Beyond a far hill-crest,
    Touch its Aeolian string.
    Remote from all the brawl and bruit of men,
    The iron tongue of Trade,
    I followed the clear calling of a wren
    Deep to the bosom of a sheltered glade,
    Where interwoven branches spread a shade
    Of soft cool beryl like the evening seas
    Unruffled by the breeze.
    And there—and there—
    I watched the maiden-hair,
    The pale blue iris-grass,
    The water-spider in its pause and pass
    Upon a pool that like a mirror was.
    I took for confidant
    The diligent ant 20
    Threading the clover and the sorrel aisles；
    For me were all the smiles
    Of the sequestered blossoms there abloom—
    Chalice and crown and plume；
    I drank the ripe rich attars blurred and blent,
    And won—Content！