The love of field and coppice
Of green and shaded lanes,
From my window I can see,
Where the sandhills dip,
One far glimpse of open sea.
Just a slender slip
WHEN the tall bamboos are clicking to the restless little breeze,
And bats begin their jerky skimming flight,
And the creamy scented blossoms of the dark pittosporum trees,
Grow sweeter with the coming of the night.
This life that we call our own
Is neither strong nor free;
A flame in the wind of death,
It trembles ceaselessly.
They're burning off at the Rampadells,
The tawny flames uprise,
With greedy licking around the trees;
The fierce breath sears our eyes.