F. N. W. BATESON

Gauntly outlined, white and still, Three haystacks peer above the hill; Three aged rakes thrust sprawlingly Fantastic tendons to the sky. In the void and dismal yard Farmer’s dog keeps rasping guard, Challenging night’s trespassers, The solemn legions of the stars; Growling ignominious scorn At Cancer and at Capricorn. The yellow stars, serene and prim, Tolerantly stare at him.