Page:Beachy Head and Other Poems.pdf/48

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Let us to woodland wilds repair While yet the glittering night-dews seem To wait the freshly-breathing air, Precursive of the morning beam, That rising with advancing day, Scatters the silver drops away.

An elm, uprooted by the storm, The trunk with mosses gray and green, Shall make for us a rustic form, Where lighter grows the forest scene; And far among the bowery shades, Are ferny lawns and grassy glades.