MEADOW GRASSES 95 



longer turn the swathes in the evening. 

 The old spirit of the country is dying, and 

 the factory and town calls to its children 

 there is more life there, and more money 

 to be made. The " big house" is sold, and a 

 new squire has arrived, once a merchant 

 and now a rich man; the sons of the old 

 squire lie somewhere in the deep sea near 

 Jutland, so why retain the estate, heavily 

 taxed and scarce self-supporting, when it 

 will eventually pass away into other hands ? 

 I have come to know other meadows now, 

 but they can never be quite the same. I lie 

 in the flowery fields, seeing the quaking- 

 grass against the sky, and a wild bee swinging 

 on a blue columbine, while a lark rains joy 

 from on high. These return, these are 

 eternal ; and with them a voice that is silent, 

 a colour that is faded. 



