Classic Poem

How could I feel a stranger here
Who know all changing seasons of the year
From buds that speak in hints
To frost that sets the flints
As fast as precious stones?
I know them all at once,
For when on thinning boughs the birds are dumber
My memory can make a full-leaved summer

But now today out of the trees
Flies and falls down a flock of greenfinches
And on some teasels lighting
Cling with crying and biting,
Till tugged and torn by them
Each fringed brown-headed stem
Shakes like the wand tossed by a thyrsus-bearer
And I stand looking on, a strayed wayfarer.