Bouts-Rimés Sonnets II.

I sit among green shady valleys oft,
  Listening to echo-winds sighing of woe;
  The grass and flowers are strong and sweet below;
Yea I am tired, and the smooth turf is soft.
I sit and think, and never look aloft,
  Save to the tops of a tall poplar-row
  That glisten in the wind, whispering low
Of sudden sorrow reaching those who laught.
A very drowsy fountain bubbles near,
  Catching pale sunbeams o'er it wandering;
    Its waters are so clear the stones look through:
Then, sitting by its lazy stream, I hear
  Silence more loud than any other thing,
    What time the trees weep o'er me honey-dew.