In Hilly-Wood

How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,

Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;

Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,

But not an eye can find its way to see.

The sunbeams scarce molest me with a smile,

So thickly the leafy armies gather round;

And where they do, the breeze blows cool the while,

Their leafy shadows dancing on the ground.

Full many a flower, too, wishing to be seen,

Perks up its head the hiding grass between,--

In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be;

Where all the noises, that on peace intrude,

Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee,

Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.