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The boldest climbers have its face forsworn,
Sheer as a wall it doth all daring flout;
But benchlike at its base, and weather-worn,
A narrow ledge leans out.
There do they set forth feasts in dishes rude
Wrought of the rush--wild strawberries on the bed
Left into August, apples brown and crude,
Cress from the cold well-head.
Shy gamesome girls, small daring imps of boys,
But gentle, almost silent at their play--
Their fledgling daws, for food, make far more noise
Ranged on the ledge than they.
The children and the purple martins share
(Loveliest of birds) possession of the place;
They veer and dart cream-breasted round the fair
Faces with wild sweet grace.
Fresh haply from Palmyra desolate,
Palmyra pale in light and storyless--
From perching in old Tadmor mate by mate
In the waste wilderness.
These know the world; what do the children know?
They know the woods, their groaning noises weird,
They climb in trees that overhang the slow
Deep mill-stream, loved and feared.


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