A MORNING WALK IN JUNE.
I will walk far into the pleasant woods
This balmy morning, and beneath the shade
Of one old beech that, in these solitudes
Without a compeer stands, where oft I've strayed
And listened to the song the wild birds made;
There will I sit me down, where I can see
The dew-drops glisten on the mossy glade,
All undisturbed as yet, except by me,
For I can trace my steps even to this green old tree.
This balmy morning, and beneath the shade
Of one old beech that, in these solitudes
Without a compeer stands, where oft I've strayed
And listened to the song the wild birds made;
There will I sit me down, where I can see
The dew-drops glisten on the mossy glade,
All undisturbed as yet, except by me,
For I can trace my steps even to this green old tree.
The sun hath not yet risen, yet the hum
Of distant voices stirs the air around;
Already nearer, nearer doth it come;
I'll rise, and wander where the busy sound
Will not disturb mine ear; yon rising mound
I'll cross, and enter the opposing dell,
Where many wild sweet-scented flowers are found,
Decking the earth's dark bosom passing well;
But first I will remove this slow snail's curious shell
Of distant voices stirs the air around;
Already nearer, nearer doth it come;
I'll rise, and wander where the busy sound
Will not disturb mine ear; yon rising mound
I'll cross, and enter the opposing dell,
Where many wild sweet-scented flowers are found,
Decking the earth's dark bosom passing well;
But first I will remove this slow snail's curious shell
