WHEN the inmate stirs, the birds retire discreetly From the window-ledge, whereon they whistled sweetly And on the step of the door, In the misty morning hoar; But now the dweller is up they flee To the crooked neighbouring codlin-tree; And when he comes fully forth they seek the garden, And call from the lofty costard, as pleading pardon For shouting so near before In their joy at being alive: -- Meanwhile the hammering clock within goes five. I know a domicile of brown and green, Where for a hundred summers there have been Just such enactments, just such daybreaks seen. |