THE HEDGEROW
THE sun is up, Great God, the sun is up, High o'er the eastern hill among white clouds Insufferable! I thank Thee for the call. Deep in the Woodstock meadows on a morn Pleasant it is to wander ere the sun Has burned the dewdrops off the bending grass; When each small area seems a world complete, When every forest stem beneath the sun Shoots out a light, and every meadow span Is dowered with moving radiance; and the hills! I had not known their power till I had seen, Limned by the early morn, their mystic heads White in the eastern circuit. From the town The path led out across the dew-wet lands, Crossed the cold river in the river-mist, And turned aside before the columned elms, Heavy with morning light; three things remain In joy, of all the pleasant things I saw Along this early path: the glowing elms, Far off, the line of hills, and suddenly (That rose abrupt and claimed its character) A straight and tangled row of heavy green, A hedge, till then unguessed, where loftier trees Stood up amid a world of clustering things, Brambles and slender vines and, stiffly held,