53968: The Ash Grove

<p dir="ltr"> Half of the grove stood dead, and those that yet lived made<br> Little more than the dead ones made of shade.<br> If they led to a house, long before they had seen its fall:<br> But they welcomed me; I was glad without cause and delayed.<br> Scarce a hundred paces under the trees was the interval---<br> Paces each sweeter than sweetest miles---but nothing at all,<br> Not even the spirits of memory and fear with restless wing,<br> Could climb down in to molest me over the wall<br> That I passed through at either end without noticing.<br> And now an ash grove far from those hills can bring<br> The same tranquillity in which I wander a ghost<br> With a ghostly gladness, as if I heard a girl sing<br> The song of the Ash Grove soft as love uncrossed,<br> And then in a crowd or in distance it were lost,<br> But the moment unveiled something unwilling to die<br> And I had what most I desired, without search or desert or cost.<br></p>