Thou restless voice! that wandering up and down <br />These forest paths, where for this many a day, <br />I come to dream the summer hours away— <br />Mak'st answer to my voice with mocking tone, <br />Echo! thou air-born child of harmony, <br />How oft in sunny field, or shadowy wood, <br />By lone hill-side, or cavern-cradled flood, <br />Have I held laughing converse, nymph, with thee. <br />This is thy dwelling, and along the wide <br />Oak-woven halls, that stretch on every side, <br />Murmuring sweet lullabies, I hear thee stray, <br />Hushing the dim-eyed Twilight, who all day, <br />From searching sunbeams hid in these cool bowers, <br />Sleeps on a bed of pale, night-blowing flowers.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-88/
