An English home - gray twilight poured/ On dewy pastures, dewy trees,/ Softer than sleep - all things in order stored,/ A haunt of ancient Peace.
I dreamed there would be Spring no more,/ That Nature's ancient power was lost.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,/ And ancient forms of party strife;/ Ring in the nobler modes of life,/ With sweeter manners, purer laws.