RP1 01v
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2 I love the solitude
Of this pretty grove.
I have the sweet habit
Of coming here in secret.
There I weave a crown
From wild flowers;
I give it to Mary,
With my sweetest songs.
4
I behold nature —
The flowers and birds.
I contemplate the waters
Of the murmuring brook.
The valleys and fields
Give joy to my eyes;
The mountain tops
Draw me nearer to Heaven!
Often strange voices
Come visit me here.
This must be how
The angels would speak!
I stare into space
And I contemplate the heavens.
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