Our walk was far among the ancient trees;
There was no road, nor any wood-man's path;
But the thick umbrage, checking the wild growth
Of weed and sapling, on the soft green turf
Beneath the branches of itself had made
A track, which brought us to a slip of lawn,
And a small bed of water in the woods.
All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink
On its firm margin, even as from a Well,
Or some Stone-bason which the Herdsman's hand 
Had shaped for their refreshment; nor did sun
Or wind from any quarter ever come
But as a blessing, to this calm recess,
This glade of water and this one green field.
The spot was made by Nature for herself:
The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain
Unknown to them; but it is beautiful
And if a man should plant his cottage near,
Should sleep beneath the shelter of its trees,
And blend its waters with his daily meal, 
He would so love it that in his death-hour
Its image would survive among his thoughts:
And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still nook
With all its beeches we have named from You!