Here you will find the Poem Lost Treasure of poet Mathilde Blind
THE autumn day steals, pallid as a ghost, Along these fields and man-forsaken ways; And o'er the hedgerows bramble-knotted maze The whitening locks of Old Man's Beard are tost. Here, shrunk by centuries of fire and frost, A crab tree stands where--lingering gossip says-- In ocean-moated England's golden days, Great treasure, in a frolic, once was lost. Here--fresh from fumes of some Falstaffian bout, When famous champions, fired by many a bet, Had drained huge bumpers while the stars would set-- Beneath its reeling branches by the way, Till twice twelve hours of April bloom were out-- Locked in oblivion--Shakespeare lost a day.
