The Old Willow

The juicy wheat now spindles into ear,
And trailing pea-blooms ope their velvet eyes;
And weeds and flowers, by crowds, far off and near,
In all their sunny liveries appear,
For summer's lustre boasts unnumbered dyes.
How pleasant, 'neath this willow by the brook —
Its ancient dwelling-place for many a year —
To sit; and o'er these crowded fields to look,
And the soft-dropping of the shower to hear,
Ourselves so sheltered, e'en a pleasant book
Might lie uninjured from the fragrant rain,
For not a drop gets through the bowery leaves;
But dry as housed in my old hut again,
I sit, and troublous Care but half its claim receives.