A Sketch from Nature.
- The air blows pure, for twenty miles,
- Over this vast countrié:
- Over hill and wood and vale, it goeth,
- Over steeple, and stack, and tree:
- And there's not a bird on the wind but knoweth
- How sweet these meadows be.
- The swallows are flying beside the wood,
- And the corbies are hoarsely crying;
- And the sun at the end of the earth hath stood,
And, thorough the hedge and over the road,
- On the grassy slope is lying:
- And the sheep are taking their supper-food
- While yet the rays are dying.
- Sleepy shadows are filling the furrows,
- And giant-long shadows the trees are making;
- And velvet soft are the woodland tufts,
And misty-gray the low-down crofts;
But the aspens there have gold-green tops,
- And the gold-green tops are shaking:
- The spires are white in the sun's last light;—
And yet a moment ere he drops
Gazes the sun on the golden slopes.
- Two sheep, afar from fold,
- Are on the hill-side straying,
- With backs all silver, breasts all gold:
- The merle is something saying
- Something very very sweet:—
- 'The day—the day—the day is done:'
- There answereth a single bleat—
The air is cold, the sky is dimming,
And clouds are long like fishes swimming.
Sydenham Wood, 1849.
Last modified 9/23/95