Far from the loud sea beaches Where he goes fishing and crying, Here in the inland garden Why is the sea-gull flying?

Far

Here are no fish to dive for; Here is the corn and lea; Here are the green trees rustling. Hie away home to sea!

Fresh is the river water And quiet among the rushes; p. 13This is no home for the sea-gull But for the rooks and thrushes.

p. 13

Pity the bird that has wandered! Pity the sailor ashore! Hurry him home to the ocean, Let him come here no more!

High on the sea-cliff ledges The white gulls are trooping and crying, Here among the rooks and roses, Why is the sea-gull flying?

p. 14VII—TO A GARDENER

p. 14

Friend, in my mountain-side demesne My plain-beholding, rosy, green And linnet-haunted garden-ground, Let still the esculents abound. Let first the onion flourish there, Rose among roots, the maiden-fair, Wine-scented and poetic soul Of the capacious salad bowl. Let thyme the mountaineer (to dress The tinier birds) and wading cress, The lover of the shallow brook, From all my plots and borders look.

Friend

p. 15Nor crisp and ruddy radish, nor Pease-cods for the child’s pinafore Be lacking; nor of salad clan The last and least that ever ran About great nature’s garden-beds. Nor thence be missed the speary heads Of artichoke; nor thence the bean That gathered innocent and green Outsavours the belauded pea.

p. 15

These tend, I prithee; and for me, Thy most long-suffering master, bring In April, when the linnets sing And the days lengthen more and more At sundown to the garden door. And I, being provided thus. Shall, with superb asparagus, A book, a taper, and a cup Of country wine, divinely sup.

La Solitude, Hyères.

p. 16VIII—TO MINNIE

p. 16

(With a hand-glass)

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