The primrose by the river’s brim, A lovely form, a slender stem, A gentle thought that leaves a hymn, To whisper love; to sing a gem.

The azure skies may cast their spell, Over the hills, so far away, Where Meadows kiss the soft farewell, And twilight creeps to end the day.

But here, in solitude I find, A quiet place to dream and weep, And seek the peace that’s so benign, Around the colors and the deep.

In spring we find such beauty rare, With laughter dwelt in every flower, Each feathered friend without a care, Reveals the joy of Nature’s power.

• William Wordsworth