Who hath not felt the influence that so calms <br />The weary mind in summers sultry hours <br />When wandering thickest woods beneath the arms <br />Of ancient oaks and brushing nameless flowers <br />That verge the little ride who hath not made <br />A minutes waste of time and sat him down <br />Upon a pleasant swell to gaze awhile <br />On crowding ferns bluebells and hazel leaves <br />And showers of lady smocks so called by toil <br />When boys sprote gathering sit on stulps and weave <br />Garlands while barkmen pill the fallen tree <br />- Then mid the green variety to start <br />Who hath (not) met that mood from turmoil free <br />And felt a placid joy refreshed at heart<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wood-rides/
