Some day, I think, there will be people enough br In Froxfield to pick all the blackberries br Out of the hedges of Green Lane, the straight br Broad lane where now September hides herself br In bracken and blackberry, harebell and dwarf gorse. br To-day, where yesterday a hundred sheep br Were nibbling, halcyon bells shake to the sway br Of waters that no vessel ever sailed ... br It is a kind of spring: the chaffinch tries br His song. For heat it is like summer too. br This might be winter's quiet. While the glint br Of hollies dark in the swollen hedges lasts - br One mile - and those bells ring, little I know br Or heed if time be still the same, until br The lane ends and once more all is the same.