The Poplar Field

"The poplars are fell'd: 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 last 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 retreat,

Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,

And the scene where his melody charm'd 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;

Tho' his life be a dream, his enjoyments,

I see,

Have a being less durable even than he."