noon
Good-bye , dear Belvern ! Autumn and winter may come into my life , but whenever I think of you it will be summer-time in my heart . I shall hear the tinkle of the belled sheep on the hillsides ; inhale the fragrance of the flowering vine that climbed in at my cottage window ; relive in memory the days when Love and I first walked together , hand in hand . Dear days of happy idleness ; of dreaming dreams and seeing visions ; of morning walks over the hills ; of ` bread-and-cheese and kisses ' at noon , with kind Mrs. Bobby hovering like a plump guardian angel over the simple feast ; afternoon tea under the friendly shades of the yew-tree , and parting at the wicket-gate . I can see him pass the clock-tower , the little greengrocer shop , the old stocks , the green pump ; then he is at the turn of the road where the stone wall and the hawthorn hedge will presently hide him from my view . I fly up to my window , push back the vines , catch his last wave of the hand . I would call him back , if I dared ; but it would be no easier to let him go the second time , and there is always to-morrow .