Classic Poem

There is an hidden history, in the trees,
The various shades of green, and shapes of leaves,
The nursery grounds, all stirred with the mild breeze,
My mind from lonesome weariness relieves,
Leaf shedding some, midst evergreen young firs,
Whisper, and talk to every wind which stirs.

2

I love the nursery calm — or stirr'd by winds,
Sweet chesnut, beech, and broad leaf'd sycamore,
Fruit trees, and shrubs, and trees of various kinds,
While o'er the varied scene the wind waves o'er;
The poplar, broom, and oak that trees excel,
The nursery — Oh! I love the nursery well!

3

I love the nursery, with its trees and bushes,
Where gold beak'd blackbirds build their nests & fly,
To hear neath pine clumps shade, the singing thrushes,
Hiding her Heaven tint eggs, from every eye,
I love the nursery with its shades of green,
At early morn, or in calm eve serene.

4

The nuts, and filberts with their soft broad leaves,
Throw shadows on the path of russet brown,
The willows grey, a summer chaplet weaves,
For nights dull visions, when the sun goes down,
I love the nursery, with its paths and trees,
Its songs of birds, and summer panting bees.

5

I love the nursery, 'tis a pleasant place,
To spend ones leisure hours, on summer's day,
To mark the various tree's, throughout the space,
Noting dark clumps, where leaves exclude bright day,
I love the nursery, where the breezes leave,
A whispering song of melody at eve.