Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/65

 MET a sailor in the woods,
 * A silver ring wore he,

His hair hung black, his eyes shone blue,
 * And thus he said to me: —

"What country, say, of this round earth,
 * What shore of what salt sea,

Be this, my son, I wander in,
 * And looks so strange to me?"

Says I, "O foreign sailorman,
 * In England now you be,

This is her wood, and there her sky,
 * And that her roaring sea."

He lifts his voice yet louder,
 * "What smell be this," says he,

"My nose on the sharp morning air
 * Snuffs up so greedily?"

Says I, "It is wild roses
 * Do smell so winsomely,

And winy briar, too," says I,
 * "That in these thickets be."