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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Oh, I knew Renshent—and a beautiful garden—
Bless me! wasn' Cain a warden?
And a round of trees, if it's trees you'd call them,
For, the way the salt of the wind'll scald them
Over there, they're rather like bushes—
But still, for all, these lumps of thrushes
Of a summer's everin', and the way they'd be shoutin'
After the sun, as if they were doubtin'
Would he ever come back to them again—
And, “Be sure! be sure!” you'd think they were sayin'—
Rum things is birds though—yes, indeed—
Astonishin' the places they'll breed—
Very curious that way—
Fanciful I call them—eh?
Fanciful—Dear me! the dub
That was there for the ducks, and a sort of scrub
Of jenny-nettles and that, where the hens
Was layin' on the sly, in the lee of the fence
That ran by the gable; and a splendid old trammon
For the fairies. But, bless my soul! what gammon!
As if it was any odds to you—
But, ye see, I like them places, I do.
However, this Cain had a very nice spot of it—
About a hundred acres'd be the lot of it.
Bless me! wasn' Cain a warden?
And a round of trees, if it's trees you'd call them,
For, the way the salt of the wind'll scald them
Over there, they're rather like bushes—
But still, for all, these lumps of thrushes
Of a summer's everin', and the way they'd be shoutin'
After the sun, as if they were doubtin'
Would he ever come back to them again—
And, “Be sure! be sure!” you'd think they were sayin'—
Rum things is birds though—yes, indeed—
Astonishin' the places they'll breed—
Very curious that way—
Fanciful I call them—eh?
Fanciful—Dear me! the dub
That was there for the ducks, and a sort of scrub
Of jenny-nettles and that, where the hens
Was layin' on the sly, in the lee of the fence
That ran by the gable; and a splendid old trammon
For the fairies. But, bless my soul! what gammon!
256
But, ye see, I like them places, I do.
However, this Cain had a very nice spot of it—
About a hundred acres'd be the lot of it.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |