Pretty Meadow

In the field the farm-folk call, One and all, Pretty Meadow &mdash if you look Domesday Book Very likely gives its name Just the same - Once a great house used to stand, Bravely planned, Brick and stone, accounted sure To endure, Clustered chimneys - windows too Not a few Flashing back the sunset light Night by night. So it stood till &mdash who may know By what foe? War that wasted many a shire, Tempest, fire, Or by time and slow decay Worn away, Beam from beam, and stone from stone, Down were thrown. Fretted cornice, pillared hall, Vanished all - And of all the countless panes None remains Where the sunset, night by night, Used to light All his mimic fires aglow Row on row. Only on some mounded heaps Cinquefoil creeps, By whose line you still may pace Out the place Where a great house, bravely planned, Used to stand . . . And I doubt if ever there Sight more fair Pretty meadow had to show Long ago Than the lapwing's clutch of young, Diamond hung On their backs of dappled down, Golden brown, Hurrying through the dewy grass As you pass - So I saw them, but to-day, Here in May!