And all the trees are stunted:
Surely these thistles once grew figs,
These geese were swans, and once these pigs
More musically grunted.
Where boys and girls pursued their sports
A locomotive puffs and snorts,
And gets my malediction;
The turf is dust—the elves are fled—
The ponds have shrunk—and tastes have spread
To photograph and fiction.