I Found The Poems In The Fields

He Could Not Die When The Trees Were Green, For He Loved The Time Too Well.

Forgive Me If, In Friendship’s Way, I Offer Thee A Wreath Of May.... [n]ourished By The Dews Of Heaven.... So I Have Ivy Placed Between, To Prove That Worth Is Ever Green. The Little Blue Forget-me-not... Spring’s Messenger In Every Spot, Smiling On All—"remember Me!

Now Musing O'er The Changing Scene Farmers Behind The Tavern Screen Collect; With Elbows Idly Press'd On Hob, Reclines The Corner's Guest, Reading The News To Mark Again The Bankrupt Lists Or Price Of Grain. Puffing The While His Red-tipt Pipe He Dreams O'er Troubles Nearly Ripe, Yet, Winter's Leisure To Regale, Hopes Better Times, And Sips His Ale.

Old Noted Oak! I Saw Thee In A Mood Of Vague Indifference; And Yet With Me Thy Memory, Like Thy Fate, Hath Lingering Stood For Years, Thou Hermit, In The Lonely Sea Of Grass That Waves Around Thee!

For Nature Is Love, And Finds Haunts For True Love, Where Nothing Can Hear Or Intrude; It Hides From The Eagle And Joins With The Dove, In Beautiful Green Solitude.