Haunting the hedges

Haunting the hedges for the wilding fruit
Of sloe or blackberry just as fancys suit
& gipseys camps in some snug sheltered nook
Where old lane hedges like the pasture brook
Run crooking as they will by wood and dell
In such lone spots these wild wood roamers dwell
On commons where no farmers claims appear
Nor tyrant justice rides to interfere
Such the abodes neath hedge or spreading oak
& but discovered by its curling smoke
Such are the pictures that October yields
To please the poet as he walks the fields

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