BRUMANA
H, shall I never, never be home again ?
eadows of England shining in the rain,
Spread wide your daisied lawns; your ramparts green'
With briar fortify; with blossom screen
Till my far morning; and, 0 streams that slow, 5
And pure,' and deep, through plains and playlands go,
For me your love and all your kingcups store ;
And, dark militia of the southern shore,
Old fragrant friends, preserve me the last lines
Of that long saga which you sang me, pines, 10
When, lonely boy, beneath the chosen tree
I listened, with my eyes upon the sea.
O traitor pines, you sang what life has found
The fastest of fair tales.
Earth blew a far-horn prelude all around, 15
That native music of her forest home,
While, from the sea's blue fields and syren dales,
Shadows and light noon-spectres of the foam,
Riding the summer gales,
On aery viols plucked an idle sound. 20
Hearing you sing, 0 trees,
Hearing you murmur, 'There are older seas,
That beat on vaster sands,
Where the wise snailfish move their pearly towers
To carven rocks and sculptured promontories." 25
Hearing you whisper, " Lands
Where blaze the unimaginable flowers."
Beneath me in the valley waves the palm,