The speaker begins by naming the natural things he loves: a damp wind shaking hedges, poppies stirring on hot stone, bees brushing lilies, and a blackbird singing after rain. His affection for this landscape feels immediate and physical. But when he imagines going into the meadows to sing to his best friend, he stops short. The brook and birds could give him rhythm and melody, but he would keep the song wordless. Echo might mock ordinary language, and some feelings are too deep to risk saying badly. He pictures an angel guarding the right words inside him, words meant only for the faithful, the good, and the true. The mood is tender, reverent, and a little hushed, as if the friendship matters too much for easy speech. Nature supplies the music; the deepest feeling stays unspoken.
To My Best Friend — Summary
I love the wet-lipped wind that stirs the hedge And kisses the bent flowers that drooped for rain, That stirs the poppy on the sun-burned ledge And like a swan dies singing, without pain. The golden bees go buzzing down to stain The lilies' frills, and the blue harebell rings, And the sweet blackbird in the rainbow sings.
Deep in the meadows I would sing a song, The shallow brook my tuning-fork, the birds My masters; and the boughs they hop along Shall mark my time: but there shall be no words For lurking Echo's mock; an angel herds Words that I may not know, within, for you, Words for the faithful meet, the good and true.