The Bird and the Bower

I had a little bower when I was young;
A bird sang there,
And I, poor child, still listened while it sung
Its magic air.

For still it said, or still it seemed to say,
" The world is thine;
See how the roses redden, waters play,
And moonbeams shine.

" See how the sun, with golden, dreaming light,
The valley fills;
See how he crowds with a blue gloom like night
The noonday hills.

" Deep in the foxglove's bell, where'er thou go,
Still drones the bee,
And the red trout, where warbling brooklets flow,
Leaps up for thee.

" For thee the sun and moon were made of yore,
The cloud and star;
For thee God made the After, the Before,
The Near and Far.