Long woodland shadows from the sinking sun;
Deeper the wood seems there, secluded as
The tame wild-deer that, in the moss and grass,
Gaze with their human eyes. Where grow those lines
Of pale-starred green; and where yon fountain shines,
Urned deep in tremulous ferns, let's rest upon
Yon oak-trunk by the tempest overthrown
Years, years ago. See, how 'tis rotted brown!
But here the red bark's firm and overgrown
Of trailing ivy darkly berried. Share