Ii

About a mile behind the viny banks, How sweet it was, upon a sloping green, Sunspread, and shaded with a branching screen, To lie in peace half-murmuring words of thanks! To see the mountains on each other climb, With spaces for rich meadows flowery bright; The winding river freshening the sight At intervals, the trees in leafy prime; The distant village-roofs of blue and white, With intersections of quaint-fashioned beams All slanting crosswise, and the feudal gleams Of ruined turrets, barren in the light;— To watch the changing clouds, like clime in clime; Oh sweet to lie and bless the luxury of time.