3. PROMENADE.
In the coppice, where leaves are decaying,
The hind would gently repose;
On the country-side, ash-trees are swaying
O'er the long, dim meadow in rows.
O'er the meadow with long, dim hedges,
Where the yellowish waters plash,
There falls on the avenue's edges
The fruit of the mountain-ash.
'Tis as though the autumn divided
The girdle that decked her with gems,
And earthward the corals glided
On the faded grasses and stems.
Let fall, too, the flood of my dreaming,
Though 'tis but as a leaf that is dead!
What once as my spring I was deeming,
I would cull now from dreams that are shed.
4. ON THE HILL-SIDE.
Here is the sweetest grass-plot for a bed,
In softest lethargy to close the eyes,
On naught to brood, nor yearn, but let the head
Droop in the grassy couch … Like wreckage flies
A huddled clot of clouds, that yonder soar
Behind the mountain's ridge .… All lulls thee here,
