HOW I BECAME A NATURALIST 17 



Soon after the advent of these verses in a local paper there 

 appeared the following rejoinder, signed " An Admirer" : 



" To a ' Sweet Spring Poet,' 

 Hark to his lilting lay ! 

 Hark ! hear him go it ! 



Vieing with the joyous Lark. 



Never mind about the metre, 



Never mind about the rhyme ; 

 The muse is his, and if he beat her, 



It's her fate each sweet Springtime. 



Prince of the golden tongue, 



Prince of the hair ; 

 Full-throated Sappho's son, 



Songster so fair. 



Dodging the hackneyed themes, 



Boldly dost sing 

 Love-songs of welcome 



For Earth's blossoming. 



Bard of the busy Bee, 



Bard of the meads, 

 Laureate of woodside blooms, 



Lover of Weeds. 



Thou dost not scorn the ground, 



Like gleeful Lark ; 

 Thy heart is with the flowers, 



Down in the dark. 



Snow, wind, and rain may come 



Naught dost thou care ; 

 Shivering birdy songs 



Sing'st from thy lair. 



Sing thou again to me 



One little song ; 

 Sing thy sweet lullabies 



Eleven stanzas long. 



Then when thy song is done, 



If not before, 

 I shall be slumbering, 



Dreading no more." 



Homely Hertfordshire has inspired many poets, and it may 

 here be mentioned that among a few of the better known singers 

 of my native county there are included Francis Bacon, Richard 



B 



