O THAT a nest, my mate! were once more ours,
Where we, by vain and barren change un-
Could have grave friendships with wise trees
And live the great, green life of field and
From the cold birthday of the daffodils,
Ev'n to that listening pause that is November,
O to confide in woods, confer with hills,
And then—then, to that palmland you
Fly swift, where seas that brook not Winter's
Are one vast violet breaking into lilies
There where we spent our first strange wedded
In the far, golden, fire-hearted Antilles.
William Watson. Retrogression and Other Poems. London: John Lane, The Bodley Head, 1917.