Out of reach and fear of all;
And the squirrels crack the filberts, through their cheerful madrigal.
On your left, the sheep are cropping
The slant grass and daisies pale;
And five apple-trees stand, dropping
Separate shadows toward the vale,
Over which, in choral silence, the hills look you their “All hail!”
Yet in childhood little prized I
That fair walk and far survey:
’Twas a straight walk, unadvised by