Classic Poem

Ah! our parrock so snug and so small,
On the foot of the upsloping knap,
By the horse road that ran by our wall,
With the hedge without ever a gap.
It was there near the end of the grove,
By the greensided bank, in the lew,
That we built us a fair little cove,
That no fresh blowing wind rustled through.
If a dust-driving wind hurried past
Down the road by the nook we were in,
There we heard all the sounds of its blast,
But we felt not its cold on our skin.

There it shook all the leaves of the oak,
And it bended the tall ashen tree,
And it bore off the words that we spoke,
But it left us our voices of glee.
If some quick-stepping horse hoofs were heard
Come with loudening sounds to our ground,
And ere long, like a wing-flapping bird,
Go along with a fast dying sound,
Then I wish'd for no steed, slow or fleet,
From the parrock to ride on afar,
While so brisk on our own litty feet
We all danced by the evening's white star.

If the parrock were my ground to-day
Still a parrock to me it should be;
I would not take its hedges away,
Nor would open it out to the lea,
But would keep it in spring and in fall
For a pet of a horse like our bay,
And in winter for food in his stall
From its little round rick of sweet hay.