Print

RP1 01v

 

2

I love the solitude
Of this pretty grove.
I have the sweet habit
Of coming here in secret.

3

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.

5

The valleys and fields
Give joy to my eyes;
The mountain tops
Draw me nearer to Heaven!
 
6
 
Often strange voices
Come visit me here.
This must be how
The angels would speak!

7

I stare into space
And I contemplate the heavens.