My reed-roof’d cottage, while the wintry blast
From the thick north comes howling: till the Spring
Return, who leads my devious steps abroad,
To climb, as now, to Lewesdon’s airy top.
Above the noise and stir of yonder fields
Uplifted, on this height I feel the mind
Expand itself in wider liberty.
The distant sounds break gently on my sense,
Soothing to meditation: so methinks,
Even so, sequester’d from the noisy world,