Unwatch’d, the garden bough shall sway,
;;The tender blossom flutter down,
;;Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;
Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,
;;Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
;;And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air;
Unloved, by many a sandy bar,
;;The brook shall babble down the plain,
;;At noon or when the lesser wain
Is twisting round the polar star;
Uncared for, gird the windy grove,
;;And flood the haunts of hern and crake;
;;Or into silver arrows break
The sailing moon in creek and cove;
Till from the garden and the wild
;;A fresh association blow,
;;And year by year the landscape grow
Familiar to the stranger’s child;
As year by year the labourer tills
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades;
And year by year our memory fades
From all the circle of the hills.