'The poplars are fell'd: farewell to the shade, <br />And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; <br />The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, <br />Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. <br /> <br />'Twelve years have elapsed, since I last took a view <br />Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew; <br />And now in the grass behold they are laid, <br />And the tree is my seat, that once lent me a shade. <br /> <br />'The blackbird has fled to another retreat, <br />Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, <br />And the scene where his melody charm'd me before <br />Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. <br /> <br />'My fugitive years are all hasting away, <br />And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, <br />With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, <br />Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. <br /> <br />''Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, <br />To muse on the perishing pleasures of man; <br />Tho' his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see, <br />Have a being less durable even than he.'<br /><br />Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poplar-field-4/
