Classic Poem

The day is all round me the woods and the fields
And sweet is the singing their birds music yields
The waterfall music, there's none such at home
It spreads like a sheet, and then falls into foam
The meadows are mown, what a beautiful hue
There is in green closes as I wander through
A green of all colors, yellow, brown and dark grey
While the footpaths all darkly goes winding away
Creeping on to a foot-brig that crosses a brook
Or a gate, or a stile, and how rustic they look
Some leaning so much that the maidens will go
Lower down with their buckets, and try to creep through
There is nothing more sweet in the fields and the sun
Than those dear little footpaths that o'er the fields run
They lead us by maidens all making of hay
While we seem to steal kisses as we bid them good day
They lead us to springs with a stone by the brink
All ready to kneel on, to stoop down and drink
They lead us by bushes, all bowering and sweet
Where the wild thyme has cushioned mole-hills for a seat
And the wild thyme smells sweet, as we sit by the stile
And the green-linnet keeps on her nest all the while
The road smokes with dust as the oxen and sheep
Go mile after mile 'till they scarcely can creep
A hugh cloud of dust all the coaches conceals
They are hid in the smoak that flies up from the wheels
The dust like a cloud whirleth up all the day
As coaches and coaches keep flying away
Here nothing in nature displeases the eye
Out of doors there's the fields and the beautiful sky
There's the weeds by the hedge and the flowers in the grass
And everything pleases, wherever we pass
This grove of tall elms with their dark sombre green
How sweet their old shadows beneath them are seen
In the heat of the day how delicious to pass
As cool as an ice house, or the dews on the grass
Where every where else, it is scorching, and sear
But here it is pleasant throughout the whole year
The closes are mown, and the haytime is done
And the stacks stand about bleaching brown in the sun
The naked shorn sheep, and the sleek looking cows
Are turned in the eddish in quiet to browse
Out of doors we see nothing but pleasure and good
'Tis the greenness of childhood in valley and wood
Good health out of doors is all that we see
Where nature and quiet are happy and free
Oh! there's nought so delightful as the woods and the fields
And the out-of-doors pleasures their sweet music yields.
O powers of mans destiny give me but these
With my wife and my children at evening to please.