When forth I sallied from our cottage-door By exhortation of my frugal dame : Motley accoutrement, of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,- and, in truth, Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, The banquet,—or beneath the trees I sate And weary expectation, have been blest Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep, And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash And merciless ravage; and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Their quiet being: and, unless I now I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees and the intruding sky.- |