Witch-elms that counterchange the floor
⁠Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright:
⁠And thou, with all thy breadth and height
Of foliage, towering sycamore;

How often, hither wandering down,
⁠My Arthur found your shadows fair,
⁠And shook to all the liberal air
The dust and din and steam of town:

He brought an eye for all he saw;
⁠He mixt in all our simple sports;
⁠They pleased him, fresh from brawling courts
And dusky purlieus of the law.

O joy to him in this retreat,
⁠Immantled in ambrosial dark,
⁠To drink the cooler air, and mark
The landscape winking through the heat: