Country Crofts

EVERY croft makes me remember
My childhood’s chamber
Where all that I loved best
Between three books was pressed.

There was a thorn and thistle,
And an oaten whistle;
The goosegirl’s ugly mother,
And her youngest brother.

There each trick and stranger
Filled my room with danger;
With Merlin and his trouble,
And kettle’s caldron bubble.

It was a joy to see
Such village husbandry;
My swineherds and my churchyard and my hen,
My sturdy, and my Robin-hooded men.

Thorn for me and nettle,
And Lancelot’s cold mettle
Made my crofts to be
Full of minstrelsy.

Sweet ambergris and amber
Filled my childhood’s chamber
With bay leaves and with sorrel,
With asphodel and laurel.

Now croft makes me remember
That golden chamber,
But I can pay no fee
Restores that minstrelsy.

I can search in nettle,
In every hut and wattle,
But cannot find my hen,
My Merlin, or my gallant-hooded men.