They laughed at one I loved-The triangular hill that
Under the Big Forth.
They said That I was bounded by the whitethorn
Of the little farm and did not know the world.
But I knew that love's doorway to
Is the same doorway everywhere.
Ashamed of what I lovedI flung her from me and called her a
Although she was smiling at me with violets.
But now I am back in her briary
The dew of an Indian Summer
On bleached potato-stalks What age am I?
I do not know what age I am,
I am no mortal age;
I know nothing of women,
Nothing of cities,
I cannot
Unless I walk outside these whitethorn hedges.
