My Orcha'd In Linden Lea
Ithin the woodlands, flowry gleaded, By the woak trees mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded, Now do quiver under voot; An birds do whissle over head, An waters bubblen in its bed, An there vor me the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. When leaves that leately wer a-springen Now do feade ithin the copse, An painted birds do hush their zingen Up upon the timbers tops; An brown-leavd fruits a-turnen red, In cloudless zunsheen, over head, Wi fruit vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. Let other vok meake money vaster In the air o dark-roomd towns, I dont dread a peevish measter; Though noo man do heed my frowns, I be free to goo abrode, Or teake agean my hwomeward road To where, vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
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"Ithin the woodlands, flowry gleaded,..."
William Barnes's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "My Orcha'd In Linden Lea"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...