James Elroy
Flecker .
Have
I not
chased
the
fluting
Pan
Through
Cranham 's
sober
trees
?
Have
I not
sat
on
Painswick
Hill
With
a
nymph
upon
my
knees
,
And
she
as
rosy
as
the
dawn
,
And
naked
as
the
breeze
?
IV.
But when
I
lie
in
Grecian
fields
,
Smothered
in
asphodel
Or
climb
the
blue and
barren
hills
,
Or
sing
in
woods that
smell
With
such
hot
spices
of
the
South
As mariners
might sell
Then my heart turns where no
sun
burns
,
To
lands
of
glittering
rain
,
To
fields
beneath
low
-
clouded
skies
New
-
widowed
of
their
grain
,
And
Autumn
leaves
like blood
and
gold
That
strew
a
Gloucester
lane
.
Oh well
I
know
sweet Hellas now
,
And well
I
knew
it
then
,
When
I
with
starry
lads walked out
But
ah,
for
home again
!
Was
I
not bred
in
Gloucestershire
,
One
of
the
Englishmen
!
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