Shadows On The Down

When daffodils danced in Chuck Hatch, and white clouds Drew their own shadowy purple across the hills, Darkening the valley where the small flint church The Saxon built stood roofless to the sun, Believe me, Memory, it was not a shadow! No shadow of a cloud you saw that day Flowing across the smooth deep-breasted downs, But something darker, sweeter,- the wild thyme Of Sussex, flowing like a river of joy That tossed a hundred skylarks up. No shadow, Believe me, Memory, but the purple thyme Flowing by windmill and by wattled fold On to the white chalk coast and sparkling sea.