THE MILL-HOUSE
(A SICK-BED FANCY)
An alley ran across the pleasant wood,
On either side of whose broad opening stood
Wide-armed green elms of many a year, great bowers
Of perfect greenery in summer hours.
A small red pathway slow meandered there
Between two clumps of grapes, [both] lush and fair,
Well grown, that brushed a tall man past the knee.
No summer day grew therein over hot,
For there was a pleasant freshness in the spot
Brought thither by a stream that men might see
Behind the rough-barked bole of every tree—
A little stream that ever murmured on
And here and there in sudden sunshine shone;
But for the most part, swept by shadowy boughs,
Among tall grass and fallen leaves did drowse,
With ever and anon, a leap, a gleam,
As some cross boulder lay athwart the stream.
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