| |
| WHAT unto thee are cities vast, | |
| Small village here among these elms? | |
| The care that eats, the show that cheats, | |
| The noise that overwhelms? | |
| |
| Few sounds are thine, and clearly heard,— | 5 |
| The whimple of the brook, | |
| The woodman’s axe that distant sounds, | |
| Dogs’ bay, or cawing rook. | |
| |
| How filled with quiet are these fields! | |
| Far off is heard the peasant’s tread. | 10 |
| How clothed with peace is human life! | |
| How tranquil seem the dead! | |
| |
| Here Time and Nature are at strife,— | |
| The only strife that here is seen; | |
| Whate’er decay has tinged with gray, | 15 |
| Has nature touched with green. | |
| |
| The market cross o’ergrown with moss, | |
| All quaintly carved, still lingers on, | |
| And dreams, even in this hoary place, | |
| Of ages longer gone. | 20 |
| |
| The Maypole, hung with garlands sere, | |
| Thou fondly dost retain as yet, | |
| All good old pastimes of the land | |
| Unwilling to forget. | |
| |
| The Gothic church, the manor hall, | 25 |
| And cottages low roofed with stone, | |
| With waving grass and lichens all | |
| Are grayly overgrown. | |
| |
| Haunt for the meditative mind! | |
| Some hermit long hath near thee dwelt, | 30 |
| And breathed his soul forth on the air | |
| In quiet that is felt. | |
| |
| I round me look some monk to see, | |
| Some stately old monastic fane; | |
| Nor should I start, were I to meet | 35 |
| The Norman or the Dane. | |
| |
| Here, as to all the world unknown, | |
| A sage seclusion dost thou keep; | |
| And here Antiquity enjoys | |
| A deep and mossy sleep. | 40 |
| |
| Across the moors far I have sped, | |
| Intent upon a glowing theme; | |
| And here the first time round me look | |
| Awake, as in a dream. | |
| |
| Thy name I know not, nor would know; | 45 |
| No common name would I be told: | |
| Yet often shall I see thee now, | |
| Thou village quaint and old. | |
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