The clouds of Sussex thyme

That crown the cliffs in mid-July

Were all we needed—you and I—

But Salomon sailed from Ophir,

And broken bits of rhyme

Blew to us on the white chalk coast

From O, what elfin clime?

A peacock butterfly flaunted

Its four great crimson wings,

As over the edge of the chalk it flew

Black as a ship on the Channel blue ...

When Salomon sailed from Ophir,—

He brought, as the high sun brings,

Honey and spice to the Queen of the South,

Sussex or Saba, a song for her mouth,

Sweet as the dawn-wind over the downs

And the tall white cliffs that the wild thyme crowns

A song that the whole sky sings:—

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