First known when lost

I never had noticed it until

’Twas gone, – the narrow copse

Where now the woodman lops

The last of the willows with his bill.

5 It was not more than a hedge overgrown.

One meadow’s breadth away

I passed it day by day.

Now the soil is bare as a bone,

And black betwixt two meadows green,

10 Though fresh-cut faggot ends

Of hazel make some amends

With a gleam as if flowers they had been.

Strange it could have hidden so near!

And now I see as I look

15 That the small winding brook,

A tributary’s tributary, rises there.