Love in a Valley

Take me, Lieutenant, to that Surrey homestead!

    Red comes the winter and your rakish car,

Red among the hawthorns, redder than the hawberries

    And trails of old man’s nuisance, and noisier far.

Far, far below me roll the Coulsdon woodlands,

    White down the valley curves the living rail,1

Tall, tall, above me, olive spike the pinewoods,

    Olive against blue-black, moving in the gale.

Deep down the drive go the cushioned rhododendrons,

    Deep down, sand deep, drives the heather root,

Deep the spliced timber barked around the summer-house,

    Light lies the tennis-court, plantain underfoot.

What a winter welcome to what a Surrey homestead!

    Oh! the metal lantern and white enamelled door!

Oh! the spread of orange from the gas-fire on the carpet!

    Oh! the tiny patter, sandalled footsteps on the floor!

Fling wide the curtains!—that’s a Surrey sunset

    Low down the line sings the Addiscombe train,

Leaded are the windows lozenging the crimson,

    Drained dark the pines in resin-scented rain.

Portable Lieutenant! they carry you to China

    And me to lonely shopping in a brilliant arcade;

Firm hand, fond hand, switch the giddy engine!

    So for us a last time is bright light made.