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 thick 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.