Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ADDRESS TO HIS NATIVE VALE, by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD



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ADDRESS TO HIS NATIVE VALE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: On thy calm joys with what delight I dream
Last Line: They strip thy shades, -- thy shades so dear to me!
Subject(s): Country Life


ON thy calm joys with what delight I dream
Thou dear green valley of my native stream!
Fancy o'er thee still waves the enchanting wand,
And every nook of thine is fairy land,
And ever will be, though the axe should smite
In gain's rude service, and in pity's spite,
Thy clustering alders, and at length invade
The last, last poplars that compose thy shade:
Thy stream shall then in native freedom stray,
And undermine the willows in its way;
These, nearly worthless, may survive this storm,
This scythe of desolation, call'd "Reform."
No army pass'd that way! yet are they fled,
The boughs that, when a schoolboy, screen'd my head:
I hate the murderous axe; estranging more
The winding vale from what it was of yore,
Than e'en mortality in all its rage,
And all the change of faces in an age.
"Warmth," will they term it, that I speak so free?
They strip thy shades, -- thy shades so dear to me!





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