Why do I hate that lone green dell?
⁠Buried in moors and mountains wild,
That is a spot I had loved too well,
⁠Had I but seen it when a child.

There are bones whitening there in the summer heat;
⁠But it is not for that, and none can tell,
None but one can the secret repeat,
⁠Why I hate that lone green dell.

Noble foe, I pardon thee
⁠All thy cold and scornful pride,
For thou wast a priceless friend to me
⁠When my sad heart had none beside.

And leaning on thy generous arm,
⁠A breath of old times over me came;
The earth shone round with a long-lost charm:
⁠Alas! I forgot I was not the same.

Before a day, an hour, passed by,
⁠My spirit knew itself once more;
I saw the gilded visions fly
⁠And leave me as I was before.

May 9, 1838.