‘From which the trees as from a carpet rise,
In knolls, and clumps, with rich varieties,’
just as they did on South Hill half a century ago.
There, too, he found his ‘plashy pools with rushes,’ and it may be—for Hampstead Heath has seen many such morns of May:
‘Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green,
For a warm eve, and gentle rain at night,
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light.
And there’s a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out,
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze,