Here Have I Learnt The Little That I Know

Here have I learnt the little that I know, Here where in these untutored woodland ways The primrose, all unconscious of our praise, Dimpled the dainty coverlet of the snow, March's first-born, and, still averse to go, Though drowsy-lidded, dallies and delays When, dawning through the bluebell's heavenly haze, June into full mid-summer broadeneth slow. Forgive me, friend, if these mean more to me, Imbue my being with a deeper lore, Come nearer to my heart, instruct me more In what I am and what I fain would be, Even than Sabine summit, Oscan shore, Or Tiber curving tawnily to the sea.'