ON the hill there is a tavern, long-loved, well-remembered,
Where all the sleepy afternoon the little tables dream,
And the cool green bottles ranged, laugh and gleam with golden highlights,
And the waiters wrangle, and the flies, with murmurs merged and mixed.
We will go there, you and I, to wake the nodding contentment,
And toast our fancies reverently with red wine and with white wine,
And with eyes mesmerised to the horizon gazing,
Dream our iridescent dreams and sigh our shadowy sighs.
Where all the sleepy afternoon the little tables dream,
And the cool green bottles ranged, laugh and gleam with golden highlights,
And the waiters wrangle, and the flies, with murmurs merged and mixed.
We will go there, you and I, to wake the nodding contentment,
And toast our fancies reverently with red wine and with white wine,
And with eyes mesmerised to the horizon gazing,
Dream our iridescent dreams and sigh our shadowy sighs.
1916
80
