Through woods where lone the woodman goes
Through all the matted shades to stray
The brambles tearing at my clothes
& it may tear I love the noise
& hug the solitary joys
The woodman he from top to toe
In leathern doublet brushes on
He cares not where his rambles go
Thorns briers he beats them every one
Their utmost spite his armour foils
Unhurt he dares his daily toils
Knee deep in fern he daily stoops
& loud his bill or hatchet chops
As snug he trims the faggot up
Or gaps in mossy hedges stops
While echo chops as he hath done
As if she counted every one
Through thickest shades I love to go
Where stovens foiled to get above
Cramp crook and form so thick below
Fantastic arbours — Oh, I love
To sit me there till fancy weaves
Rich joys beneath a world of leaves
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