XVII

   _To the_ ----.
  Lady! the songs of Spring were in the grove
  While I was framing beds for winter flowers;
  While I was planting green unfading bowers,
  And shrubs to hang upon the warm alcove,
  And sheltering wall; and still, as fancy wove
  The dream, to time and nature's blended powers
  I gave this paradise for winter hours,
  A labyrinth Lady! which your feet shall rove.
  Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines,
  Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom
  Or of high gladness you shall hither bring;
  And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines
  Be gracious as the music and the bloom
  And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.

• About William Wordsworth