Classic Poem

Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane
At noon, the bank an[d] Hedge-rows all the way
Shagged with wild pale green Tufts of fragrant Hay,
Caught by the Hawthorns from the loaded wain,
Which Age with many a slow stoop strove to gain;
And Childhood, seeming still most busy, took
His little Rake; with cunning side-long look,
Sauntering to pluck the strawberries wild, unseen.
Now too on melancholy's idle dreams
Musing, the lone spot with my Soul agrees,
Quiet and dark; for [through?] the thick wove Trees
Scarce peeps the curious Star till solemn gleams
The clouded Moon, and calls me forth to stray
Through tall, green, silent woods and Ruins grey.