they are chopping down the trees by our river:
My aspens dear whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Of a fresh and following folded rank
Not spared not one
That dandled a sandalled
Shadow that swam or sank
On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-
winding bank.
From Binsey Poplars by GM Hopkins
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