| |
| THE POPLARS are fell’d, farewell to the shade | |
| And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; | |
| The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, | |
| Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. | |
| |
| Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view | 5 |
| Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew: | |
| And now in the grass behold they are laid, | |
| And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. | |
| |
| The blackbird has fled to another retreat | |
| Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat; | 10 |
| And the scene where his melody charm’d me before | |
| Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. | |
| |
| My fugitive years are all hasting away, | |
| And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, | |
| With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, | 15 |
| Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. | |
| |
| ‘Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, | |
| To muse on the perishing pleasures of man; | |
| Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments, I see, | |
| Have a still shorter date; and die sooner than we. | 20 |
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