Country Towns

Country towns, with your willows and squares,

And farmers bouncing on barrel

To public houses of yellow

With "1860" over their doors,

And that mysterious race of

Which always keeps the General Stores….

At the School of Arts, a broadsheet

Sprayed with the sarcasm of flies:"The Great Golightly

Of Entertainers Here To-night"–Dated a year and a half ago,

But left there, less from

Than from a wish to seem polite.

Verandas baked with musky sleep,

Mulberry faces dozing deep,

And dogs that lick the sunlight

Like paste of gold – or, roused in

By far, mysterious buggy-wheels,

Lower their ears, and drowse again….

Country towns with your schooner bees,

And locusts burnt in the pepper-trees,

Drown me with syrups, arch your boughs,

Find me a bench, and let me snore,

Till, charged with ale and unconcern,

I'll think it's noon at half-past four!