Classic Poem

It was a happy thought, upon the brow
Of this slight eminence, abrupt and sheer,
This artless seat and straw-thatch'd roof to rear;
Where one may watch the labourer at his plough;
Or hear well-pleased, as I am listening now,
The song of wild birds falling on the ear,
Blended with hum of bees, or, sound more drear,
The solemn murmur of the wind-swept bough
Tent-like the fabric — in its centre stands
The sturdy oak, that spreads his boughs on high
Above the roof: while to the unsated eye
Beauteous the landscape which below expands,
Where grassy meadows, richly cultured lands
With leafy woods and hedge-row graces vie.