England and Yesterday — To a Child

TO A CHILD.

Dear Owain, when you are minded To gather the perfect thing, Over Abergavenny Climb in the evening!

— I have seen where orchis dances A saraband with the Spring;

Where samphire leans to ocean, And shakes in the word he saith;

Or the brood of the peasant ragweed, Innocent, sweet of breath, Runs with a wild Welsh river That never has heard of death;

Where thrift, with a foot shell-tinted, On the dark coast-road delays;

And foxglove flames in a ruin;

And campion meekly lays On a crag’s uneven shoulder Her satiny cheek, for days.

Well: these in their mortal beauty, And these in their youth, abound.

But over Abergavenny, Past sunset-hour, I found (O Holy Grail of a flower!

) The sun on the hilltop ground.