I 
The train! The twleve o'clock for paradise. 
Hurry, or it will try to creep away. 
Out in the country every one is wise: 
We can be only wise on Saturday. 
There you are waiting, little friendly house: 
Those are your chimney-stacks with you between 
Surrounded by old trees and strolling cows, 
Staring through all your windows at the green. 
Your homely floor is creaking for our tread; 
The smiling tea-pot with contented spout 
Thinks of the boiling water, and the bread 
Longs for the butter. All their hands are out 
To greet us, and the gentle blankets seem 
Purring and crooning: 'Lie in us, and dream.' 

II 
The key will stammer, and the door reply, 
The hall wake, yawn, and smile; the torpid stair 
Will grumble at our feet, the table cry: 
'Fetch my bolongings for me; I am bare.' 
A clatter! something in the attic falls, 
A ghost has lifted up his robes and fled. 
Then silence very slowly lifts his head. 
The starling with impatient screech has flown 
The chimney, and is watching from the tree. 
They thought us gone for ever: mouse alone 
Stops in the middle of the floor to see. 
Now all you idle things, resume your toil. 
Hearth, put your flames on. Sulky kettle, boil. 

III 
Contented evening; comfortable joys; 
The snoozing fire, and all the fields are still: 
Tranquil delight, no purpose, and no noise -- 
Unless the slow wind flowing round the hill. 
'Murry' (the kettle) dozes; little mouse 
Is rambling prudently about the floor. 
There's lovely conversation in this house: 
Words become princes that were slaves before. 
What a sweet atmosphere for you and me 
The people that have been here left behind. . . . 
Oh, but I fear it may turn out to be 
Built of a dream, erected in the mind: 
So if we speak too loud, we may awaken 
To find it vanished, and ourselves mistaken. 

IV 
Lift up the curtain carefully. All the trees 
Stand in the dark like drowsy sentinels. 
The oak is talkative to-night; he tells 
The little bushes crowding at his knees 
That formidable, hard, voluminous 
History of growth from acord into age. 
They titter like school-children; they arouse 
Their comrades, who exclaim: ' He is very sage. ' 
Look how the moon is staring through that cloud, 
Laying and lifting idle streaks of light. 
O hark! was that the monstrous wind, so loud 
And sudden, prowling always through the night? 
Let down the shaking curtain. They are queer, 
Those foreigners. They and we live so near. 

V 
Come, come to bed. The shadows move about, 
And some one seems to overhear our talk. 
The fire is low; the candles flicker out; 
The ghosts of former tenants want to walk. 
Already they are shuffling through the gloom. 
I felt on old man touch my shoulder-blade; 
Once he was married here; they love this room, 
He and his woman and the child they made. 
Dead, dead, they are, yet some familiar sound, 
Creeping along the brink of happy life, 
Revives their memory from under ground -- 
The farmer and his troublesome old wife. 
Let us be going: as we climb the stairs, 
They'll sit down in our warm half-empty chairs. 

VI 
Morning! Wake up! Awaken! All the boughs 
Are rippling on the air across the green. 
The youngest birds are singing to the house. 
Blood of the world! -- and is the country clean? 
Disturb the precinct. Cool it with a shout. 
Sing as you trundle down to light the fire. 
Turn the encumbering shadows tumbling out, 
And fill the chambers with a new desire. 
Life is no good, unless the morning brings 
White happiness and quick delight of day. 
These half-inanamate domestic things 
Must all be useful, or must go away. 
Coffee, be fragrant. Porridge in my plate, 
Increase the vigour to fulfil my fate. 

VII 
The fresh air moves like water round a boat. 
The white clouds wander. Let us wander too. 
The whining, wavering plover flap and float. 
That crow is flying after that cuckoo. 
Look! Look! . . . They're gone. What are the great trees calling? 
Just come a little farther, by that edge 
Of green, to where the stormy ploughland, falling 
Wave upon wave, is lapping to the hedge. 
Oh, what a lovely bank! Give me your hand. 
Lie down and press your heart against the ground. 
Let us both listen till we understand, 
Each through the other, every natural sound. . . . 
I can't hear anything to-day, can you, 
But, far and near: ' Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! ' ? 

VIII 
The everlasting grass -- how bright, how cool! 
The day has gone too suddenly, too soon. 
There's something white and shiny in that pool -- 
Throw in a stone, and you will hit the moon. 
Listen, the church-bell ringing! Do not say 
We must go back to-morrow to our work. 
We'll tell them we are dead: we d