Far-fetched with tales of other worlds and ways,
My skin well-oiled with wines of the Levant,
I set my face into a filial smile To greet the pale, domestic kiss of Kent. But shall I never learn? That gawky girl,
Recalled so primly in my foreign thoughts,
Becomes again the green-haired queen of love Whose wanton form dilates as it delights. Her rolling tidal landscape floods the eye And drowns Chianti in a dusky stream; he flower-flecked grasses swim with simple horses,
The hedges choke with roses fat as cream.
So do I breathe the hayblown airs of home,
And watch the sea-green elms drip birds and shadows,
And as the twilight nets the plunging sun My heart's keel slides to rest among the meadows.
