GLOUCESTERSHIRE FROM THE TRAIN

The golden fields wheel round— Their spokes, green hedges; And at the galloping sound Of the train, from watery sedges Arise familiar birds. Pools brown, and blue, and green, Criss-crossed with shadows, Flash by, and in between Gloucestershire meadows Lie speckled red with herds. A little flying farm, With humped grey back Against the rays that warm To gold a last-year stack, Like a friendly cat appears; And so through gloom and gleam Continues dwindling, While in my heart a dream Of home awakes to kindling Fire, and falling tears.