The characters of men were set,
Against the crashing drifting waves.
Red bark so cooled the calm vignette,
So frame the dith’ring sunken walls.
The blooming rocks ever beset,
When something entered from the sound.
New notes graced Albion’s duet,
From North to South, and East to West,
So wandered till the paths be marked.
So drawn higher towards the crest,
Up heaving hills and bristling backs,
Where breezes brought us sweet repose.
The emerald’s new age was mild.
Among the silence of shadows,
The hills were counted every one.
Anemic call to long lost Rome
So patient under temp’rate sun.
So even that allusion passed.
So careless cast into the sea,
To vanish so without a sound.
As if a logger felled a tree.
But who is counting hills of late?
So vast and humble gardens grew.
They sang along the rolling straight.
From heavy copse of sibyl graves.
So outlined verdant grandeur run.
Alive in corp’rate fertile peace.
So rich in mist, and poor in sun.
The dreary joy so slow ascend.
The breeze so rich over the glen.
So crisp and dewy, westward send.
Fresh wine, new hops, to glimpse the fall.
Where ice once slowly carved the soul,
Retrieved the hard won wisdom’s past.
Now stand the soft etched drumlin rolls:
A bed of ferns clasp cedar soil.
From fronds the globs so heavy grow,
The drops so splash with crowning roil,
And elsewhere dot the window panes,
Which silent sentries slyly shade.
A stranger’s home so greets the folk.
Was love the neighbors firmly paid.
A wand’ring breeze so lost its chill.
The smell of piling misty leaves,
Our rain finds endless soil to fill.
For gentle is the lonely sun.
Refresh the winding cordial path.
The sun so warms its teaming realm.
The firs accept their solar bath.
Where care so,