Drowsd with the fu of poppies, while thy hook
Spares theswath and all its ed flowers:
And sotis like a gleahou dost keep
Steady thy den head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the st oozgs hours by hours.
III
Where are the songs of Sprg?Ay, where are they?
Thk not of the, thou hast thy ic too,—
While barred clouds bloo the soft-dyg day,
And touch the stubble-ps with rosy hue;
Thena wailful choir the sall gnats ourn
Aong the river sallows, horne aloft
as the light d lives or dies;
And full-grown bs loud bleat fro hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sg; and now with treble soft;
The red-breast whistles fro a garden-croft;
And gatherg swallows itterthe skies.