I enter a daisy-and-buttercup land,
And thence
thread a jungle of grass:
Hurdles and stiles scarce visible stand
Above the lush stems
as I pass.
Hedges peer over, and try to be seen,
And seem to
reveal a dim sense
That amid such ambitious and elbow-high green
They make a mean
show as a fence.
Elsewhere the mead is possessed of the neats,
That range not
greatly above
The rich rank thicket which brushes their teats,
And HER gown, as
she waits for her Love.
NEAR CHARD.
No comments:
Post a Comment