The Poplar Field by William Cowper

The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade <br />And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade: <br />The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, <br />Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. <br /> <br />Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view <br />Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew, <br />And now in the grass behold they are laid, <br />And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. <br /> <br />The blackbird has fled to another retreat <br />Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat; <br />And the scene where his melody charmed me before <br />Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. <br /> <br />My fugitive years are all hasting away, <br />And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, <br />With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, <br />Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. <br /> <br />'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, <br />To muse on the perishing pleasures of man; <br />Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments, I see, <br />Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poplar-field/