A breath of unadulterated air,
The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
The citizen, and brace his languid frame.
Even in the stifling bosom of the town;
A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms
That soothe the rich possessor.
And are these not all proofs that man immured
In cities, still retains his inborn inextinguishable
Thirst of rural scenes, compensating his loss
By supplemental shifts the best he may?
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