Three golden months while summer on us stole I have read your joyful tale another time, Breathing more freely in that larger clime And learning wiselier to deserve the whole. Your Spirit, Master, has been close at hand And guided me, still pointing treasures rare, Thick-sown where I before saw nothing fair And finding waters in the barren land, Barren once thought because my eyes were dim. Like one I am grown to whom the common field And often-wandered copse one morning yield New pleasures suddenly; for over him Falls the weird spirit of unexplained delight, New mystery in every shady place, In every whispering tree a nameless grace, New rapture on the windy seaward height. So may she come to me, teaching me well To savour all these sweets that lie to hand In wood and lane about this pleasant land Though it be not the land where I would dwell.XX. Sonnet
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