Up to the bed by the window, where I be lyin', Comes bells and bleat of the flock wi' they two children's clack. Over, from under the eaves there's the starlings flyin', And down in yard, fit to burst his chain, yapping out at Sue I do hear young Mac. Turning around like a falled-over sack I can see team ploughin' in Whithy-bush field and meal carts startin' up road to Church-Town; Saturday arternoon the men goin' back And the women from market, trapin' home over the down. Heavenly Master, I wud like to wake to they same green places Where I be know'd for breakin' dogs and follerin' sheep. And if I may not walk in th' old ways and look on th' old faces I wud sooner sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUDDEN LIGHT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 90. 'RETRO ME, SATHANA!' by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI UPON MY LADY CARLISLE'S WALKING IN HAMPTON COURT GARDEN by JOHN SUCKLING TRACT by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS LONDON, 1802 (1) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH HOPE DEFERRED by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON DIXIT, ET IN MENSAM by CHARLES WILLIAM SHIRLEY BROOKS |