(To A. H. C.)

Wakened by birds and sun, laughter of the wind, A man might see all heart’s desire by raising His pillowed sleepy head (still apt for lazing And drowsy thought)--but then a green most kind Waved welcome, and the rifted sky behind Showed blue, whereon cloud-ships full-sailed went racing, Man to delight and set his heart on praising The Maker of all things, bountiful-hearted, kind.

May Hill, that half-revealéd tree-clad thing, Maisemore’s delightful ridge, where Severn flowing Nourished a wealth of lovely wild things blowing Sweet as the air--Wainlodes and Ashleworth To northward showed, a land where a great king Might sit to receive homage from the whole earth.