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Sonnets Round the Coast

by H. D. Rawnsley
  

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212

IV. THE LINCOLNSHIRE MARSH.

Fringed by the sea a level plain we crost,
Fresh with continual green from end to end;
To far-off shepherds flocks their welcome send,
Mixed with the lowings of a hornèd host;
Here gleams a gate, and there a roadway post,
Ever to sunset grey-blown willows bend,
And, round the pastures, whispering rushes lend
Their voice to swell the murmur of the coast.
Here neither sheep nor shepherd-boy can ail,
Glad with the green, invigorate with the gale,
Unchid, across his flowery bounds may pass
The lowing steer in search of sweeter grass;
For they who own these herds are free of hand,
And open-hearted as their breezy land.