Classic Poem

Ah! where the hedge across the hill
Bestreak'd the airy ground,
And ashes' limbs were widely spread,
With up-grown tips, above our head,
And out and in, with broken brink,
The rippled brookling wound.

As wind-blown leaves were driven dry
In drifts, we hastened through
The grove, where frost yet lingered white,
In shadows cast by winter light,
To reach our home ere thick'ning gloom
Should hide our path from view.

And as you touched with lightsome toes
The turf, so smoothly fleet
In whirling wind, it gather'd strong
Behind your frock that swept along
The ruddy leaves, and wafted them
In leaps, behind your feet.

But now, again, in treading trim
Our track, the same old way,
We both walk on with slower gait
On feet that bear our full-grown weight,
And leave our little children's toes
To leap and run in play.