summer noon
I was wrapt in a trance of still delight . It told me the secret of the woods , and the flowers , and the birds . At one time I felt as if I was wandering in childhood through sunny spring forests , over carpets of primroses , anemones , and little white starry things -- I had almost said creatures , and finding new wonderful flowers at every turn . At another , I lay half dreaming in the hot summer noon , with a book of old tales beside me , beneath a great beech ; or , in autumn , grew sad because I trod on the leaves that had sheltered me , and received their last blessing in the sweet odours of decay ; or , in a winter evening , frozen still , looked up , as I went home to a warm fireside , through the netted boughs and twigs to the cold , snowy moon , with her opal zone around her . At last I had fallen asleep ; for I know nothing more that passed till I found myself lying under a superb beech-tree , in the clear light of the morning , just before sunrise . Around me was a girdle of fresh beech-leaves . Alas !