JOHN SWINNERTON PHILLIMORE
And lest the feet of strangers overpass
Her walls of grass. Gravely a little river goes his rounds
To beat the bounds.
No bustling flood
To make a tumult in her neighbourhood, But such a stream as knows to go and come
Discreetly dumb. Therein are chambers tapestried with weeds
And screened with reeds; For roof the waterhlv-1 eaves serene
Spread tiles of green.
The sun's large eye Falls soberly upon me where I lie; For delicate webs of immnteiial haze
Refine his rays. The air is full of music none knows what,
Or half- forgot, The living echo of dead voices fills
The unseen hills.
I hear the song
Of cuckoo answering cuckoo all day long; And know not if it be my inward sprite
For my delight Making remember'd poetry appear
As sound in the car. Like a salt savour poignant in the breeze
From distant seas.
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