The poplars are felled; farewell to the shade,
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade:
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.
Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a
Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew,
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade.
The blackbird has fled to another
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat;
And the scene where his melody charmed me
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.
My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments,
I see,
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than die sooner than we...:
Cowper had originally written this:--"Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments,
I see,
Have a being less durable even than he."
