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O let mournful turtles join

With loving red-breasts, and combine

To sing dirges o'er his stone!

William Cartwright

103

Here lies a little bird.

Once all day long

In Martha's house was heard

His rippling song.

Tread lightly where he lies

Beneath this stone

With nerveless wings, closed eyes,

And sweet voice gone.

Martin Armstrong

104

Yes. I remember Adlestrop—

The name, because one afternoon

Of heat the express-train drew up there

Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.

No one left and no one came

On the bare platform. What I saw

Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,

And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,

No whit less still and lonely fair

Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang

Close by, and round him, mistier,

Farther and farther, all the birds

Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

Edward Thomas

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At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,