If I Were to Own
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F I were to own this countrysideAs far as a man in a day could ride,And the Tyes were mine for giving or letting,--Wingle Tye and MargarettingTye,--and Skreens, Gooshays, and Cockerells,Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, and Pickerells,Marlins, Lambkins, and Lillyputs,Their copses, ponds, roads, and ruts,Fields where plough-horses steam and ploversFling and whimper, hedges that loversLove, and orchards, shrubberies, wallsWhere the sun untroubled by north wind falls,And single trees where the thrush sings wellHis proverbs untranslatable,I would give them all to my sonIf he would let me any oneFor a song, a blackbird's song, at dawn.He should have no more, till on my lawnNever a one was left, because IHad shot them to put them into a pie,--His Essex blackbirds, every one,And I was left old and alone. Then unless I could pay, for rent, a songAs sweet as a blackbird's, and as long--No more--he should have the house, not I:Margaretting or Wingle Tye,Or it might be Skreens, Gooshays, or Cockerells,Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, or Pickerells,Martins, Lambkins, or Lillyputs,Should be his till the cart tracks had no ruts.
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