Classic Poem

As o'er the hill with waving timber crown'd,
In yonder drove, beneath an ash I lay;
Where bloom'd the hawthorn with its snow-white may,
And gilt-cups brightly deck'd the grassy ground;
While merry hinds within the fields around,
A-singing, ended some enliv'ning lay;
I heard a waterfall, so far away
That stillness only brought its sullen sound;

And thought in silence, O thou peaceful place;
I would that summer weather could but last;
And, in this northern land, the lovely face

Of nature could withstand the winter's blast;
And I, from all my worldly cares set free,
Could have, awhile, a happy home in thee.