Far-fetched with tales of other worlds and ways, 
My skin well-oiled with wines of the Levant, 
I set my face into a filial smile 
To greet the pale, domestic kiss of Kent. 

But shall I never learn? That gawky girl, 
Recalled so primly in my foreign thoughts, 
Becomes again the green-haired queen of love 
Whose wanton form dilates as it delights. 

Her rolling tidal landscape floods the eye 
And drowns Chianti in a dusky stream; 
he flower-flecked grasses swim with simple horses, 
The hedges choke with roses fat as cream. 

So do I breathe the hayblown airs of home, 
And watch the sea-green elms drip birds and shadows, 
And as the twilight nets the plunging sun 
My heart's keel slides to rest among the meadows.