I feel with every blade of grass, as if it had a history; and make a child of every bud as though it knew and loved me.
And being so, they seem to tell me of my own delusions, how I am no more than they, except in self-importance.
While I was forgetting much of many things that harm one, and letting of my thoughts go wild to sounds and sights of nature, a sweeter note than thrush or ouzel ever wooed a mate in, floated on the valley breeze at the quiet turn of sundown.

The words were of an ancient song, fit to laugh or cry at.
Love, an if there be one, Come my love to be, My love is for the one Loving unto me.
Not for me the show, love, Of a gilded bliss; Only thou must know, love, What my value is.
If in all the earth, love, Thou hast none but me, This shall be my worth, love: To be cheap to thee.
But, if so thou ever Strivest to be free, 'Twill be my endeavour To be dear to thee.
So shall I have plea, love, Is thy heart andbreath Clinging still to thee, love, In the doom of death.
All this I took in with great eagerness, not for the sake of the meaning (which is no doubt an allegory), but for the power and richness, and softness of the singing, which seemed to me better than we ever had even in Oare church.

But all the time I kept myself in a black niche of the rock, where the fall of the water began, lest the sweet singer (espying me) should be alarmed, and flee away.

But presently I ventured to look forth where a bush was; and then I beheld the loveliest sight--one glimpse of which was enough to make me kneel in the coldest water.
By the side of the stream she was coming to me, even among the primroses, as if she loved them all; and every flower looked the brighter, as her eyes were on them, I could not see what her face was, my heart so awoke and trembled; only that her hair was flowing from a wreath of white violets, and the grace of her coming was like the appearance of the first wind-flower.

The pale gleam over the western cliffs threw a shadow of light behind her, as if the sun were lingering.
Never do I see that light from the closing of the west, even in these my aged days, without thinking of her.