Page:Poems, Volume 2, Coates, 1916.djvu/112

96 And straight I seemed to see a close,

With hawthorn hedged and brier-rose;

And bending down, I whispered, "Dear,

Come let us fly, while no one knows,

To the country—far away from here!"

Upon the little world-worn face

There dawned a look of wistful grace,

Then came the question that for hours

Still followed me from place to place:

"Real country, where you can catch flowers?"