The wilding meadow companies give heed,—
Brave tansy, and the weed
That on the dyke-top lifts its dauntless stalk,—
Around his couch they talk.
The shadows of his oak-tree flit and play
Above his dreams all day.
The wind, that was his playmate on the hills,
His sleep with music fills.
Here in this tender acre by the tide
His vanished kin abide.