A SKETCH
IHEARhim humming as he drives his car,In mellow baritone, an ancient psalm—Drifting down to his subtle modern brainFrom his old covenanting ancestors,Who strode bare-kneed through purple heather bloom,Praising their God on wind-swept Highland hills.I am his wife. Beside him vividly,I see now not the crowded city streets,Through which he presses, strong, aloof and calm,Factories and shipyards where his vast machinesWhirr steadfastly, obedient to his brain—I see now just those small and golden hoursWhen he is mine.
IHEARhim humming as he drives his car,In mellow baritone, an ancient psalm—Drifting down to his subtle modern brainFrom his old covenanting ancestors,Who strode bare-kneed through purple heather bloom,Praising their God on wind-swept Highland hills.I am his wife. Beside him vividly,I see now not the crowded city streets,Through which he presses, strong, aloof and calm,Factories and shipyards where his vast machinesWhirr steadfastly, obedient to his brain—I see now just those small and golden hoursWhen he is mine.
IHEARhim humming as he drives his car,In mellow baritone, an ancient psalm—Drifting down to his subtle modern brainFrom his old covenanting ancestors,Who strode bare-kneed through purple heather bloom,Praising their God on wind-swept Highland hills.I am his wife. Beside him vividly,I see now not the crowded city streets,Through which he presses, strong, aloof and calm,Factories and shipyards where his vast machinesWhirr steadfastly, obedient to his brain—I see now just those small and golden hoursWhen he is mine.
IHEARhim humming as he drives his car,
In mellow baritone, an ancient psalm—
Drifting down to his subtle modern brain
From his old covenanting ancestors,
Who strode bare-kneed through purple heather bloom,
Praising their God on wind-swept Highland hills.
I am his wife. Beside him vividly,
I see now not the crowded city streets,
Through which he presses, strong, aloof and calm,
Factories and shipyards where his vast machines
Whirr steadfastly, obedient to his brain—
I see now just those small and golden hours
When he is mine.