4 THE LONE SWALLOWS 



clouds in the sky, softly and in sunlight, 

 merging into the nights when Venus lighted 

 the western seas, and belted Orion plunged 

 into the ocean. In the sheltered places 

 the arums grew, some with hastate leaves 

 purple-spotted, and showing the crimson 

 spadix like the tip of a club. Brighter grew 

 the gorselands, till from the far sands they 

 looked like swarming bees gold-dusty from 

 the pollen of the sun. The stonechat with 

 white-ringed neck and dark cap fluttered 

 into the azure, jerked his song in mid-air, 

 then dived in rapture to his mate perched 

 upon a withered bramble. In a tuft the 

 titlark was building her nest, while the 

 yellowhammer trilled upon a rusted plough- 

 share in the oatfield. 



Sometimes the swallows flew to a village 

 a mile inland, and twittered about an 

 ancient barn with grass-grown thatch, 

 haunted by white owls, and hiding in 

 dimness a cider press that had not creaked 

 in turning for half a century. Once they 



