The Flamp
TO MOLLY AND HILDA.
That sunny afternoon in May,
How stealthily we crept away,
We three—(Good things are done in threes:
That is, good things in threes are done
When you make two and I make one.)—
To hatch our small conspiracies!
Between the blossomy apple-trees
(You recollect?) we sped, and then
Safe in the green heart of the wood
We breathed again.
The purple flood the bluebells made
Washed round about us where we stood,
While voices, where the others played,
Assured us we were not pursued.
A fence to climb or wriggle through,
A strip of meadow wet with dew
To cross, and lo! before us flared
The clump of yellow gorse we shared
With five young blackbirds and their mother.
There, close beside our partners' nest,
And free from Mr. C. (that pest!),
And careless of the wind and damp,
We framed the story of The Flamp.
And O! Collaborators kind,
The wish is often in my mind,
That we, in just such happy plight,—
With Chanctonbury Ring in sight,—
Some day may frame another.
E. V. L.
1896.