That gloomy cave, that gothic niche,
Those trees that forward lean
As if enamoured of the brook —
How soothing is the scene!
No witchery of inky words
Can such illusions yield;
Yet all (ye Landscape Poets blush!)
Was penned by Edmund Field.
Those trees that forward lean
As if enamoured of the brook —
How soothing is the scene!
No witchery of inky words
Can such illusions yield;
Yet all (ye Landscape Poets blush!)
Was penned by Edmund Field.
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