Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/122

 102 EARLY POEMS ON When I am laid in dust, no more The squirrel here his haunts shall hold, My boughs his home, my fruits his store For winter's cold: Nor frame on high his mossy nest, Nor lure his little ones t o spring From branch to branch, with milk-white breast, �In graceful ring. No more, within mY leafy cell, The dove shall murmur to his mate,. Nor here the black-bird's wild note swell, So sweet of late. The cattle never shall retreat Beneath my thick impervious bower, To shun the noon-day sultry heat, Or pelting shower. On my wreath'd roots, no more reclin'd Shall musing Poet then be found, To watch my foliage in the wind, Chequering the ground. ......... Google

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