Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell! 
  For two months now in vain we shall be sought;
  We leave you here in solitude to dwell
  With these our latest gifts of tender thought; 20
  Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
  Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell! 
  Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought,
  And placed together near our rocky Well.

  We go for One to whom ye will be dear; 25
  And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed,
  Our own contrivance, Building without peer! 
—­A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
  Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,
  With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer, 30
  Will come [3] to you; to you herself will wed;
  And love the blessed life that [4] we lead here.

  Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed,
  Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
  Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, 35
  Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own. 
  Making all kindness registered and known;
  Thou for our sakes, though Nature’s child indeed,
  Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
  Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. 40

  And O most constant, yet most fickle Place,
  That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
  To them who look not daily on [5] thy face;
  Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,
  And say’st, when we forsake thee, “Let them go!” 45
  Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race
  Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,
  And travel with the year at a soft pace.

  Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by,
  And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best; 50
  Joy will be flown in its mortality;
  Something must stay to tell us of the rest. 
  Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock’s breast
  Glittered at evening like a starry sky;
  And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, 55
  Of which I sang [6] one song that will not die. [A]

  O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
  Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
  And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep
  Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers, 60
  And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;
  Two burning months let summer overleap,
  And, coming back with Her who will be ours,
  Into thy bosom we again shall creep.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1: 

1836.

  And safely she will ride ... 1815.

  ... will she ... 1832.]

[Variant 2: 

1836.

  ... that decorate our door 1815.]