Page:Collected poems of Flecker.djvu/215

 Brumana

Oh shall I never never be home again?

Meadows of England shining in the rain

Spread wide your daisied lawns: your ramparts green

With briar fortify, with blossom screen

Till my far morning—and O streams that slow

And pure and deep through plains and playlands go,

For me your love and all your kingcups store,

And—dark militia of the southern shore,

Old fragrant friends—preserve me the last lines

Of that long saga which you sung me, pines,

When, lonely boy, beneath the chosen tree

I listened, with my eyes upon the sea.

O traitor pines, you sang what life has found

The falsest of fair tales.

Earth blew a far-horn prelude all around,

That native music of her forest home,

While from the sea's blue fields and syren dales

Shadows and light noon-spectres of the foam

Riding the summer gales

On aery viols plucked an idle sound.

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