I have a hedge; to passers by It's just a boundary, but to me It spells a meager recompense For storied lands I'll never see. Always in books I lived and rode With hunter, horn, lean hounds, and fox Through meadows bound with English hedge -- Past gardens framed in yew or box. Though England I may never see, Nor hear the lark's clear call at dawn, Yet I've a hedgerow neatly clipped Around a bit of Kansas Lawn. |