FROM HALS DON TO CHELTENHAM TO TWO LITTLE LADIES.

Across three shires I stretch and lean, To gaze beyond the hills that screen The trustful eyes and gracious mien Of unforgotten Geraldine. Up Severn sea my fancy leadeth, And past the springs of Thames it speedeth, On to the brilliant town, which needeth, Far less than I, the laugh of Edith. Sad gales have changed my woodland scene To russet-brown from gold and green; Cold and forlorn like me hath been The boat that carried Geraldine. On silent paths the whistler weedeth, And what his tune is no one heedeth; On hay beneath the linhay feedeth The ass that felt the hand of Edith. Oh cherished thought of Geraldine, I'd rhyme till summer, if the Queen Would blow her trumpets and proclaim Fresh rhymes for that heroic name. Oh babbler gay as river stickle, Next year you'll be too old to tickle; But while my Torridge flows I'll say "Blithe Edith liked me half day."