Classic Poem

When ones been walking in the open plain
Were the sun near winks his eye tis sweet a while
To meet the shadows of a narrow lane
Or quiet arbour of a woodland stile
To sit & hear the little bees complain
Among the woodbine blossomes oer their toil
& the hoarse murmurs of the distant swain
Driving his horses oer the sun burnt soil
While shadows hide me & leaves entertain
My fancys with their freaks around my seat
Dancing & whispering with the wooing wind
Like lovers oer their secrets — while the heat
Glimmers without & can no passage find
To hurt the joys which rest so longd to meet