I love to hide me on a spot that lies
In solitudes where footsteps find no track
To make intrusions there to sympathize
With nature often gazing on the rack
That veils the blueness of the summer skies
In rich varieties or o'er the grass
Behold the spangled crowds of butterflies
Flutter from flower to flower & things that pass
In urgent travel by my still retreat
The bustling beetle tribes & up the stem
Of bents see lady-cows with nimble feet
Climb tall church-steeple heights or more to them
Till at its quaking top they take their seat
Which bows & off they fly fresh happiness to meet
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