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 rank Not spared, not one That dandled, and sundalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew -- Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being so slender, That, like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all, Where we, even where we mean To mend her we end her, When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene, Rural scene, a rural scene, Sweet especial rural scene. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABOU BEN ADHEM by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT DREAMS OLD AND NASCENT: NASCENT by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE THREE PASTORAL ELEGIES: TO THE READER (1) by WILLIAM BASSE TWO SONNETS: 1 by DAVID P. BERENBERG THOU LIGHT OF LIFE by BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX |