hej

The Lime-tree Bower my Prison
[Addressed to Charles Lamb, of the India House, London]

1Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
2This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost
3Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
4Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
5Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile,
6Friends, whom I never more may meet again,
7On springy heath, along the hill-top edge,
8Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
9To that still roaring dell, of which I told;
10The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep,
11And only speckled by the mid-day sun;
12Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock
13Flings arching like a bridge;--that branchless ash,
14Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves
15Ne'er tremble in the gale,...