Croaking joy

How peaceable it seems for lonely men
To see a crow fly in the thin blue sky
Over the woods & fealds o'er level fen
It speaks of villages or cottage nigh
Behind the neighbouring woods when March winds high
Tear off the branches of the huge old oak
I love to see these chimney sweeps sail by
& hear them o'er gnarled forest croak
Then sosh askew from the hid woodmans stroke
That in the woods their daily labours ply
I love the sooty crow nor would provoke
Its march day exercises of croaking joy
I love to see it sailing to & fro
While feelds & woods & waters spread below

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