An open window filled with blue,

An

The scent of meadows wet with dew,

The talk of rooks beyond the park,

A cart wheel’s creak, a sheep-dog’s bark,

Greeted our waking: then we sped

Along the rushy path that led

Down to the peat-brown river pool,

And, glowing, dived through ripples cool,

While startled coots in skimming flight

Slipped among sedges out of sight,

Or from his lonely watch the crane

Rose on slow wings; then out again{4}

{4}

And home to breakfast. Oh, the smell

Of furze bloom and bog-asphodel

Along the track! but still more sweet

The fragrance of the cakes of wheat,

The tea, the toast, the home-baked bread,

The roasted apples, all outspread

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