Page:Flora (Heinemann 1919).djvu/62

 THULE Green-cupped the acorn, ripened the pear,

Grass, lily, jonquil sweeten the air;

Tendrilled convolvulus softly doth clamber;

To his Dame steps Sir Coney, with balm for her chamber;

Cry echoes cry—would my tongue could remember! Away on his errand, in secret, runs Joy,

That wistful, naked, bud-ankleted boy.

Though never a feather in shade is seen,

Thin jargoning music wells out of the green. On high in those branches bird-glancings espy

Foamed blue of ocean imbowled by the sky.

There the lustrous-locked sun in chair sits a-flame,

Illuming a region no sailor can name. . . .	Thule? Atlantis? Arcadia? . . .. 36