THE SLEEPING WOODMAN. <br />Written in April, 1790. <br />YE copses wild, where April bids arise <br />The vernal grasses, and the early flowers; <br />My soul depress'd--from human converse flies <br />To the lone shelter of your pathless bowers. <br />Lo!--where the Woodman, with his toil oppress'd, <br />His careless head on bark and moss reclined, <br />Lull'd by the song of birds, the murmuring wind, <br />Has sunk to calm though momentary rest. <br />Ah! would 'twere mine in Spring's green lap to find <br />Such transient respite from the ills I bear! <br />Would I could taste, like this unthinking hind, <br />A sweet forgetfulness of human care, <br />Till the last sleep these weary eyes shall close, <br />And Death receive me to his long repose.<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-liv/
