About the sheltered garden ground The trees stand strangely still. The vale ne’er seemed so deep before, Nor yet so high the hill.
An awful sense of quietness, A fullness of repose, Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns, The silent garden rows.
As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse Heard far across a plain, A nearer knowledge of great thoughts Thrills vaguely through my brain.
I lean my head upon my arm, My heart’s too full to think; Like the roar of seas, upon my heart Doth the morning stillness sink.