From November - A Shepherd's Calendar by John Clare

[Mistywood]

The village sleeps in mist from morn till noon
And if the sun wades thro tis wi a face
Beamless and pale and round as if the moon
When done the journey of its nightly race
Had found him sleeping and supplyd his place
For days the shepherds in the fields may be
Nor mark a patch of sky-blindfold they trace
The plains that seem wi out a bush or tree
Whistling aloud by guess to flocks they cannot see.