When Westwell Downes I gan to tread, <br />Where cleanely wynds the greene did sweepe, <br />Methought a landskipp there was spread, <br />Here a bush and there a sheepe: <br /> The pleated wrinkles of the face <br /> Of wave-swolne earth did lend such grace, <br /> As shadowings in Imag'ry <br /> Which both deceive and please the eye. <br /> <br /> <br />The sheepe sometymes did tread the maze <br />By often wynding in and in, <br />And sometymes round about they trace <br />Which milkmayds call a Fairie ring: <br /> Such semicircles have they runne, <br /> Such lynes acrosse so trymly spunne <br /> That sheppeards learne whenere they please <br /> A new Geometry with ease. <br /> <br /> <br />The slender food upon the downe <br />Is allwayes even, allwayes bare, <br />Which neither spring nor winter's frowne <br />Can ought improve or ought impayre: <br /> Such is the barren Eunuches chynne, <br /> Which thus doth evermore begynne <br /> With tender downe to be orecast <br /> Which never comes to haire at last. <br /> <br /> <br />Here and there twoe hilly crests <br />Amiddst them hugg a pleasant greene, <br />And these are like twoe swelling breasts <br />That close a tender fall betweene. <br /> Here would I sleepe, or read, or pray <br /> From early morne till flight of day: <br /> But harke! a sheepe-bell calls mee upp, <br /> Like Oxford colledge bells, to supp.<br /><br />William Strode<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-westwell-downes/
