  Thick lie in Gloucester orchards now Apples the Severn wind With rough play tore from the tossing Branches, and left behind Leaves strewn on pastures, blown in hedges, And by the roadway lined. And I lie leagues on leagues afar To think how that wind made Great shoutings in the wide chimney, A noise of cannonade— Of how the proud elms by the signpost The tempest’s will obeyed— To think how in some German prison A boy lies with whom I might have taken joy full-hearted Hearing the great boom Of Autumn, watching the fire, talking Of books in the half gloom. O wind of Ypres and of Severn Riot there also, and tell Of comrades safe returned, home-keeping Music and Autumn smell. Comfort blow him and friendly greeting, Hearten him, wish him well! |
|
