FLORA FORSTER

Down there at Ducklington The ducks are never old; The geese are always goslings, The catkins always gold. The orchards blossom ever Like foam heaped on a cup, Down there at Ducklington Where never a duck grows up! Down there at Ducklington The years linger yet At April, with its little leaves And ash-buds of jet. And I could be a child again And drink, as from a cup, Youth, down at Ducklington, Where never a duck grows up! Down there at Ducklington, With its ducklings ever young, With its year ever at April, And the songs of June unsung— The potion of eternal youth Is brewed there in a cup— Down there at Ducklington Where never a duck grows up!