Pleasant Places

Old stone-pits, with veined ivy overhung;
Wild crooked brooks, o'er which is rudely flung
A rail, and plank that bends beneath the tread;
Old narrow lanes, where trees meet over-head;
Path-stiles, on which a steeple we espy,
Peeping and stretching in the distant sky;
Heaths overspread with furze-bloom's sunny shine,
Where Wonder pauses to exclaim, "Divine!"
Old ponds, dim shadowed with a broken tree; —
These are the picturesque of Taste to me;
While painting Winds, to make complete the scene,
In rich confusion mingle every green,
Waving the sketchy pencils in their hands,
Shading the living scenes to fairy lands.