Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof.

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.

The lazy leaden-stepping Hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace.

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground.

The greenish sky glows up in misty reds, The purple shadows turn to brick and stone, The dreams wear thin, men turn upon their beds, And hear the milk-cart jan…

Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine - 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine.

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore.