The Vale of Rasselas

Will waters roll for ever over Rasselas

Where Ernie, ponderous as stone

Stared down the golden vale of buttongrass

And winds whip storms above his weathered home

Where friend coo-eed to friend, to make the echoes ring

From range to range

The speckled trout, cold Englishmen, will nose

Under the cherries when the moon is high

And eels entwine in cold embrace

Where bees sang promises of summer mead.

B.M