Mandragora/The Lane
- THE LANE
No one can take away from me
A storm-swept lane I once wandered through,
Overhung with ivy and briony,
And heavy with holly and sombre yew.
The wind in the tree-tops moaned and cried,
And 'mid ancient stalks of faded sedge,
Wild basil drooped, grew pallid, and died;
And dying marjoram filled the hedge.
In long-drawn gusts from the down-land's verge,
The cold rain sobbed disconsolately;
And borne on the wind from the distant surge,
The sound of the sea came lamentably.
Well did I love the rain in my face
And the smell of the leaf-mould and tangled grass,
And the flapping wings that rose from the place,
As flocks of starlings heard me pass.
And again and again, when in crowded squares
The pulse of my life falls low and sinks,
Of the deep-drawn breath of those down-land airs
My parched and harrowed spirit drinks.
And I pray to the gods I may find ere I die
A heart that shall be as that lane to me,
With wild-tossed branches and windy sky
And the sound of the everlasting sea!