- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
About This Book
THE WILD COMMONTHE quick sparks on the gorse bushes are leaping,Little jets of sunlight-texture imitating flame;Above them, exultant, the pee-wits are sweeping:They are lords of the desolate wastes of sadnesstheir screamings proclaim.Rabbits, handfuls of brown earth, lie Low-rounded on the mournful grass they have bitten down to the quick. Are they asleep?âAre they alive?âNow see, when I Move my arms the hill bursts and heaves under their spurting kick.The common flaunts bravely; but below, from the rushes Crowds of glittering king-cups surge to challenge the blossoming bushes; There the lazy streamlet pushes Its curious course mildly; here it wakes again, leaps, laughs, and gushes.Into a deep pond, an old sheep-dip, Dark, overgrown with willows, cool, with the brook ebbing through so slow, Naked on the steep, soft lip Of the bank I stand watching my own white shadow quivering to and fro.What if the gorse flowers shrivelled and kissing were lost? Without the pulsing waters, where were the marigolds and the songs of the brook? If my veins and my breasts with love embossed Withered, my insolent soul would be gone like flowers that the hot wind took.