Classic Poem

As there, along the elmy hedge, I go
By banksides white with parsley — parsley-bloom —
Where smell of new-mown hay comes wafted by
On wind of dewy evening, evening gloom,
And homeward take my shaded way between
The hedge's high-tipp'd wood, and barley green,
I sing, or mean
" O troubles of the day. Flee to the west,
Come not my homeward way. I seek my rest."

The dairy cows, by meadow trees, lie free
Of calls to milkers' pails — the milkmaids' calls;
The horses now have left their rolling wheels
And reel'd in home to stable, to their stalls,
And down the grey-pool'd stream the fish awhile
Are free from all the prowling angler's guile,
And o'er the stile
I sink, and sing or say, " Flee to the west
O troubles of the day. I seek my rest."

My boy — whose little high-rigged boat, athwart
The windy pool, by day, at afternoon,
Has fluttered, tippling like a bird
That tries to fly unfledged, to fly too soon —
Now sleeps forgetful of the boat, and fond
Old dog that he had taught to swim the pond.
So flee beyond
The edge of sinking day, towards the west,
Ye troubles flee away. I seek my rest.

A star is o'er the tower on the hill,
Whence rings no clanging knell, no evening peal;
The mill stands dark beside the flouncing foam;
But still is all its gear, its mossy wheel.
No rooks now sweep along the darkened sky,
And o'er the road few feet or wheels go by.
So fly, O fly
Ye troubles, with the day, adown the west,
Come not along my way. I seek my rest.