The caged bird longs for the fluttering of high leaves.
The fish in the garden pool languishes for the whirled water
Of meeting streams.
So I desired to clear and seed a patch of the wild Southern moor.
And always a countryman at heart,
I have come back to the square enclosures of my fields
And to my walled garden with its quiet paths.
Mine is a little property of ten _mou_ or so,
A thatched house of eight or nine rooms.
On the North side, the eaves are overhung