PASTORAL
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f it were only still!--With far away the shrillCrying of a cock;Or the shaken bellFrom a cow's throatMoving through the bushes;Or the soft shockOf wizened apples fallingFrom an old treeIn a forgotten orchardUpon the hilly rock! Oh, grey hill,Where the grazing herdLicks the purple blossom,Crops the spiky weed!Oh, stony pasture,Where the tall mulleinStands up so sturdyOn its little seed!
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