|The gray of this
Makes the green of the trees' leaves and the grass
And the flowers of the chestnut tree whiter
And whiter the flowers of the cow-parsley.
So still is
So heavy the sky
You can hear the splash
Of the water falling from the green grass
As Red and Honey push by,
The old dogs,
Gone away, gone hunting by the marsh bogs.
Happy the retriever dogs in their pursuit
Happy in bog-mud the busy foot.
Now all is silent, it is silent again
In the sombre day and the beginning soft rain
It is silence made more actual
By the moan from the high tree that is occasional,
Where in his nest above
Still sits the old dove,
Crying for pain,
Crying most melancholy
Again and again.