Classic Poem

Under the hollies of thy breezy glade,
Needwood, in youth with idle pace I rode,
Where pebbly rills their varied chirrup made,
Rills which the fawn with tottering knee bestrode.

Twilight was waning, yet I checkt my pace,
Slow as it was, and longer would remain;
Here first, here only, had I seen the face
Of Nature free from change and pure from stain.

Here in the glory of her power she lay,
Here she rejoiced in all the bloom of health;
Soon must I meet her faint and led astray,
Freckled with feverish whims and wasted wealth.