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In Hilly-Wood

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 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.

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