Dienstag Dictung VII; Binsey Poplars: felled 1879

     My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
     Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
     Áll félled, félled, are áll félled;
          Of a fresh, and following folded rank

                                        Not spared, not one
                                        That dandled a sandalled
          Shadow that swam or sank
On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank.
     O if we but knew what we do
                    When we delve or hew--
          Hack and rack the growing green!
                    Since country is so tender
          To tóuch, her béing só slénder,
                    That, like this sleek and seeing ball
                    But a prick will make no eye at all,
                    Where we, even where we mean
                                        To mend her we end her,
                              When we hew or delve:
After-comers cannot guess the beauty been.
     Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve
                    Strokes of havoc unselve
                              The sweet especial scene,
                    Rural scene, a rural scene,
                    Sweet especial rural scene.

-- Gerard Manley Hopkins

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