A Noctural Reverie - The Open Anthology of Literature in English

Zephyr fans his Wings,

When in some River, overhung with Green,

And makes cool Banks to pleasing Rest invite,

Yet checquers still with Red the dusky brakes:

Salisb’ry stands the Test of every Light,

In perfect Charms, and perfect Virtue bright:

Some ancient Fabrick, awful in Repose,

While Sunburnt Hills their swarthy Looks conceal,

And swelling Haycocks thicken up the Vale:

Till torn up Forage in his Teeth we hear:

Curlews cry beneath the Village-walls,

When a sedate Content the Spirit feels,

But silent Musings urge the Mind to seek