BEHIND the meadow where the windmill stood There lies a swampy, unfrequented lane. There lodges all the high ground's winter rain, And stores sharp scent of sodden underwood. Tussocks and plantains coarse and celandines Trammel the creeping water, till at foot It rills out where the spiky horsetails shoot In tiny vision of primeval scenes. So in this lane to-day my half-shut eyes Saw monstrous waterwoods and weeds coiled high, Whose heavy heat and shadow seemed to stun, And saurians horrible of form and size. Softly the twinkling water travelled by, The jutting stones stood whitened with the sun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON GROWING OLD by JOHN MASEFIELD THE CHERRY TREES by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE WOUND-DRESSER by WALT WHITMAN THE POOR FARMER'S OFFERING by APOLLONIDES SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 20. 'SONG IS NOT DEAD' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE CARPERS (AN ASPECT) by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |