29 MARCH 1963, Page 34

Flowers, Tongues

Hyacinth, anemone, With names that run More liquid than I like on My northern tongue, yet I stoop and acknowledge the Inbuilt and rigorous Grain of your chemistry. Silent hillside neighbours, You eat the one soil and Resolve unerringly Deep blue, clear crimson : A maintained distinction Speedwell and ladysmock (That fleck my own meadows , With their blunt English names Robust consonants but Pink that makes blush The great garden hyacinth, And pure flaring azure) Can make no sharper.

Sharply reminding me

The wind and the wise man Find but little distance from Your land to my land.