Waking like spirits


Like to a painted map the landscape lies
& wild above shine the cloud thronged skies
The flying clouds urged on in swiftest pace
Like living things as if they runned a race
The winds that oer each coming tempest broods
Waking like spirits in their startling moods
Fluttering the sear leaves on the blackning lea
That litters under every fading tree
& pausing oft as falls the patting rain
Then gathering strength & twirling them again
Till drops the sudden calm the hurried mill
Is stopt at once & every noise is still
The startld stockdove hurried wizzing bye
As the still hawk hangs oer him in the sky
Crows from the oak trees quawking as they spring
Dashing the acorns down wi beating wing

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