Classic Poem

I love to hide me on a spot that lies
In solitudes were footsteps find no track
To make intrusions — there to sympithise
With nature — often gazing on the rack
That veils the bluness of the summer skies
In rich varietys — or oer the grass
Behold the spangld crowds of butterflyes
Flutter from flower to flower — & things that pass
In urgent travel bye my still retreat
The bustling beetle tribes — & up the stem
Of bents see lady cows with nimble feet
Climb tall church steeple heights or more to them
Till at its quaking top they take their seat
Which bows & off they flye fresh happiness to meet