Footpath winding

Ive oft been glad at heart to see 
A footpath winding through the grass 
Oer narrow stiles neath spreading tree 
Not wide enough for two to pass 
But now no ownership I fear 
Nor path to keep nor stile to climb 
I feel myself a monarch here 
My very fancies grow sublime 
Yon bird that winnows in the sky 
On narrow pointed quivering wings 
These sheep that in the molehills lie 
Are all the hermit living things 
I see—and from the world away 
I feel what she can never give 
So happy at my heart to-day 
That from the world I wish to live

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