And kissing hands in joyous mood
To primroses in Bagley Wood.
I wish that when old Phoebus drops
Behind yon hedgehog-haunted copse
And high and bright the Northern Crown
Is standing over White Horse Down
I could be sitting by the fire
In that my Land of Heart's Desire—
A fire of fir-cones and a log
And at my feet a fubsy dog