Classic Poem

'Mid the magic of those wondrous hills
my spirit soon forgot all grief;
flavours of fruit so fresh were there,
as food full well they gave me strength;
birds in the wood together flew,
of flaming hues, both small and great;
nor citole-string nor citherner
could e'er re-tell their goodly glee;
for when those birds did beat their wings,
they sang with such a sweet accord,
no rapture could so stir a man
as to hear and see that wonderment.