Fenced round by boards, to keep them from the deer.
I miss the grandeur of the rich old scene,
And see not what these clumps and patches mean!
This shrubby belt that runs the land around 130
Shuts freedom out! what being likes a bound?
The shrubs indeed, and ill-placed flowers, are gay, }
And some would praise; I wish they were away, }
That in the wild-wood maze I as of old might stray. }
The things themselves are pleasant to behold,
But not like those which we beheld of old—