I never had noticed it until'Twas gone, - the narrow
Where now the woodman
The last of the willows with his
It was not more than a hedge overgrown.
One meadow's breadth awayI passed it day by day.
Now the soil is bare as bone,
And black betwixt two meadows green,
Though fresh-cut fag got
Of hazel made some
With a gleam as if flowers they had been.
Strange it could have hidden so near!
And now I see as I
That the small winding brook,
A tributary's tributary, rises there.
