| Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875. |
| |
| W. Cowper |
| |
| CXLIII. The Poplar Field |
| |
| THE poplars are fell'd! farewell to the shade | |
| And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; | |
| The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, | |
| Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. | |
| |
| Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view | 5 |
| Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew; | |
| And now in the grass behold they are laid, | |
| And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade! | |
| |
| The blackbird has fled to another retreat | |
| Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, | 10 |
| And the scene where his melody charm'd me before | |
| Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. | |
| |
| My fugitive years are all hasting away, | |
| And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, | |
| With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, | 15 |
| Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. | |
| |
| The change both my heart and my fancy employs, | |
| I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys; | |
| Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, | |
| Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. | 20 |
| |
|
|
