WHEN we were idlers with the loitering rills, The need of human love we little noted:   Our love was nature; and the peace that floated On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills, To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills:   One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted,   That, wisely doting, ask'd not why it doted, And ours the unknown joy, which knowing kills. But now I find how dear thou wert to me;   That man is more than half of nature's treasure, Of that fair beauty which no eye can see,   Of that sweet music which no ear can measure;   And now the streams may sing for others' pleasure, The hills sleep on in their eternity.