Journey Remembered
A load of hay heaped up on the red and blue wagon
Catches the branches and dangles in wisps on the hedge
Long after the whine of the wheel and the hoof-beats die,
And we in the train are rushed onwards, whilst part of us, looking And longing, remains, in the woods, that our feet cannot tread, Or walks with the girl to her cool room under the thatch, Reaches the crisp fruit from the orchard tree, knd with the herd moves to the white-washed byre.
And part of them travels with us, the imprint of a leaf Clear as if we held it, a flower seen In an unknown garden, the memory of a face Like music obsessing the Inind, flocks that possessing In droves of peace the slopes of undulant hills Browse onwards, onwards to the last drowsy brink And green fringes of sleep, and in our minds Move, and make calm the rough ways of the mind.
MARGARET STANLEY-WRENCH.
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