Sedge-rats cry their glee, While the overgrown thistles sway; And amidst the murmur and the bee, The shadows urge the day away. Where light grows dim in languor,
Forgetful, we lose our ground—
And memories, like feathers, Fall softly, deeper bound.

Let earth’s green embrace Enfold our hearts in solitude, Where moments linger still, And dreams taste sweet on interlude.

• Robert Graves