POETRY.
AN AIRMAN'S DREAM.
Wept I am tired through and through, And all the things I have to do Seem little, senseless, brutal things, My mind escapes on happier wings To an old house, that is mine own, Lichen-kissed and overgrown; With gables here.and gables there A as! tapered chimneys anywhere ; With mill-stone hearths for burning logs And kettles singing from the dogs; With rough-hewn beams of darkened oak, Fragrant with a taint of smoke; With unexpected steps and nooks
And case. full of leather books—
Soft water-colours that I love; And in the bedrooms, up above, Large four-post beds, and lots of air, Where I can lie without a care, And hear the rustle of the leaves And starlings fighting in the eaves.
Around the house a garden lies, A many-coloured paradise; With sunlit lawns and stately trees, Ever murmuring iu the breeze; With beds of flowers, not too tame, All bright, and never twice the same.
And if the Lord is very good And all things happen as they should,
There is a river gliding by, Transparent as the summer's sky, Cool to the touch, and very deep, Quietly smiling in its sleep.
There large, well-educated trout Scull themselves lazily round about; And there a brook with cheerful noise Comes chattering low its little joys, Telling how, through Newton Wood, It stole, sedate and very good, But when it tumbled through the mill It thumped the old wheel with a will; How the pike beneath the bridge Caught the chub of Sandy Ridge; And no on, if I care to listen, Till the evening dew-drops glisten.
Down the stream a mile or two The fenlands come, where trees are few.
There sturdy, sad-eyed fenmrn toil, Tilling their heavy deep-brown soil ;— A land where the grey heron breeds And wild-fowl paddle in the reeds; A land of molten, golden reds, Of ripening corn and osier beds; A land in which, where'er I go, There is no man to say me no.
I'd have for soy companions there A boat, a gun, of dogs a pair, Cocker spaniels, silver grey, With tails a-wagging all the day.
And other things I'd have are these : Large breakfasts and enormous teas, Honey and home-made bread, still hot.
Freak butter in an earthen pot, And new-braid eggs, and clotted cream.
O Lord! to think it's all a dream. Maas.
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