Dappled very close with shade;
Summer-snow of apple blossoms, running up from glade to glade.
There is one hill I see nearer,
In my vision of the rest;
And a little wood seems clearer,
As it climbeth from the west,
Sideway from the tree-locked valley, to the airy upland crest.
Small the wood is, green with hazels,
And, completing the ascent,
Where the wind blows and sun dazzles,