GLOUCESTERSHIRE FROM THE TRAIN
The golden fields wheel round—
Their spokes, green hedges;
And at the galloping sound
Of the train, from watery sedges
Arise familiar birds.
Pools brown, and blue, and green,
Criss-crossed with shadows,
Flash by, and in between
Gloucestershire meadows
Lie speckled red with herds.
A little flying farm,
With humped grey back
Against the rays that warm
To gold a last-year stack,
Like a friendly cat appears;
And so through gloom and gleam
Continues dwindling,
While in my heart a dream
Of home awakes to kindling
Fire, and falling tears.