I knew his house by the poplar-trees,
Green and silvery in the breeze;
‘A heaven-high hedge,’ were the words he said,
‘And holly-hocks, pink and white and red. . . .’
It seemed so far from McChesney’s Hall –
Where first he told me about it all.
A long path runs inside from the gate, –
He still can take it, early or late;
But where in the world is the path for me
Except the river that runs to the sea!