Nutting

.   -It seems a day
 (I speak of one from many singled out)
 One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
 When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
 I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
 With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
 A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
 Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
 Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
  Which for that service had been husbanded,
  By exhortation of my frugal Dame-
  Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
  At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,-and, in truth,
  More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
  Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
  Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
  Unvisited, where not a broken bough
  Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
  Of devastation; but the hazels rose
  Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
  A virgin scene!-A little while I stood,
  Breathing with such suppression of the heart
  As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
  Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
  The banquet;-or beneath the trees I sate
  Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
  A temper known to those, who, after long
  And weary expectation, have been blest
  With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
  Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
  The violets of five seasons re-appear
  And fade, unseen by any human eye;
  Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
  For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
  And-with my cheek on one of those green stones
  That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
  Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep-
  I heard the murmur, and the murmuring sound,
  In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
  Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
  The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
  Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
  And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
  And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
  And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
  Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
  Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
  Their quiet being: and, unless I now
  Confound my present feelings with the past;
  Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
  Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
  I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
  The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.-
  Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
  In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
  Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods.