(Felled 1879)My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Of a fresh and following folded
Not spared, not
That swam or
On meadow and river and wind-wanderingweed-winding bank.
O if we but knew what we
When we delve or hew-Hack and rack the growing green!
Since country is so
To touch, her being so slender,
That, like this sleek and seeing
But a prick will make no eye at all,
Where we, even where we
To mend her we end her,
When we hew or delve:
After-comers cannot guess the beauty been.
Ten or twelve, only ten or
Strokes of havoc
The sweet especial scene,
Rural scene, a rural scene,
Sweet especial rural scene.