Fancies

All through the green, the grass carpet light,
The small dandelions took to their flight,
And this gripped my fancy, resembling snow --
A blanket of white beneath an orange glow --
But they were not cold like a wintry night,
In spite of their similar colour of white.

And all in the back, their stood the great barn,
So wonderful, grand, and filled with a charm
Of which I never could capably tell.
The inside was shady and filled with the smell
Of birds and of hay-bales -- the smells of the farm!
It too took my fancy, that great oaken cairn,

And one of those sparrows that took to its roof --
Despite being blacker than midnight's black hoof --
Would sit up on high to be close to the light,
And from this acquired a special delight
In the shadow-wrapped fancies of hay-bales aloof.
They stood as a beacon of unburdened proof

Of how the white ghost-buds out in the sun
Could be ever distant to shadowy fun,
But we, being children of very young age,
Took fancy to shunning the wars they would rage,
And we would delight when ever there spun
A sparrow his nest of dandelion gum.

This was, in its whole, a long time ago,
And I'm no longer certain if I want to know
Where that old barn stands, or if so, or how.
If I could go back there, the snow would be brown,
The old oaken hay-posts would be bleached as snow,
And everything I as a child did know

Would probably be burnt to a very fine ash.
The sun with the flowers was always quite rash,
And so too with sparrows that lived 'neath that roof.
The sun takes no fancy to wars or their proofs,
And so I'm quite certain they're both now destroyed.

You know, that's what broke my fancy.

5/31/05