The Truant

The Truant

A sweet sin was it long ago I sinned —
My heart roved truant from my native shire :
I heard the poplars rustle in the wind
And dreamed of waves that beat upon a shore .

Now in the weeds I sway for ever more ;
My bones in that green shroud are closely wound :
I hear the unquiet sea upon the shore ,
And dream of trees that rustle in the wind .

14th September 1952

[On the same sheet as Not when the sunlit blue of summer seas ]