Hark! A hare is strangling in the forest,
And the wind tears a shutter from the wall.


THE LITTLE GREEN ORCHARD: WALTER DE LA MARE

Some one is always sitting there,
In the little green orchard;
Even when the sun is high
In noon's unclouded sky,
And faintly droning goes
The bee from rose to rose,
Some one in shadow is sitting there,
In the little green orchard.

Yes, and when twilight's falling softly
On the little green orchard;
When the gray dew distils
And every flower cup fills;
When the last blackbird says,
"What--what!" and goes her way--ssh!
I have heard voices calling softly
In the little green orchard.

Not that I am afraid of being there,
In the little green orchard;
Why, when the moon's been bright,
Shedding her lonesome light,
And moths like ghosties come,
And the horned snail leaves home: