THE tamarisks bowed their heads, compelled By no ungentle force; The breeze a sunny fragrance held, Mingled of sea and gorse; And on the turf the daisies shone; The heaving turf's desire Was plainly to be trodden on; The daisies were on fire For something far more pure and warm Than they; and on them there I, for a moment, saw thy form Rise in the happy air. |