The Poetry Corner

The Wren

By John Frederick Freeman

Within the greenhouse dim and damp The heat floats like a cloud. Pale rose-leaves droop from the rust roof With rust-edged roses bowed. As I go in Out flies the startled wren. By the tall dark fir tree he sings Morn after morn still, Shy and bold he flits and sings Tinily sweet and shrill. As I go out His song follows me about ... About the orchard under trees Beaded with cherries bright, Past the rat-haunted Honeybourne And up those hills of light: As up I go His notes more sweetly flow. Or down those dark hills when night's there Full of dark thoughts and deep, A thin clear soundless music comes Like stars in broken sleep. When I come down All those dark thoughts are flown. And now that sweetness is more sweet, Here where the aeroplanes Labouring and groaning in the height Lift their lifeless vans:-- Sweet, sweet to hear The far off wren singing clear.