Classic Poem

I hear a noise of waters drawn away,
And, headed always downwards, with less sounding
Work through a cover'd copse whose hollow rounding
Rather to ear than eye shews where they stray,
Making them double-musical. And they
Low-covered pass, and brace the woodland clods
With shining-hilted curves, that they may stay
The bluebells up whose crystal-ending rods
... in their natural sods.


a standing fell
Of hyacinths ...
And pledged purply in a half-lit dell.