Beneath their shade the hairless coot

Waddles at ease,

Hushing the magic of his gurgling beak;

Or haply in Tree-worship leans his cheek

Against their blind

And hoary rind,

39

39

Observing how the sap

Comes humming upwards from the tap-

Root!

Thrice happy, hairless coot!

And O the sun!

See, see, he shakes

His big red hands at me in wanton fun!

A glorious image that! it might be Blake’s;

As in my critical capacity I took occasion to remark elsewhere,

When heaping praise

On this exceptionally happy phrase,

Although I made it up myself.

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