SHAFTS of light pour trough the small young leaves

Of Spanish Chestnut with long twisted grooves

In every plinth ; a mire way trod by hooves

Of kine meanders ; a gang from the hive bereaves

Green-yellow maple flowers of sweet drops

And of their fine loot worthy dust. Beyond

Are slumbering fields that dream of autumn crops,

And a willow-bordered newt-rife pond.