Walter de la Mare, The Little Green Orchard

Some one is always sitting there,

In the little green orchard;

Even when the sun is high,

In noon´s unclouded sky,

And faintly droning goes

The bee from rose to rose,

Some one in shadow is sitting there,

In the little green orchard.

Yes, and when twilight´s falling softly

On the little green orchard;

When the grey dew distils

And every flower-cup fills;

When the last blackbird says,

`What – what!´ and goes her way – ssh!

I have heard voices calling softly

In the little green orchard.

Not that I am afraid of being there,

In the little green orchard;

Why, when the moon´s been bright,

Shedding her lonesome light,

And moths like ghosties come,

And the horned snail leaves home:

I´ve sat there, whispering and listening there,

In the little green orchard;

Only it´s strange to be feeling there,

In the little green orchard;

Whether you paint or draw,

Dig, hammer, chop, or saw;

When you are most alone,

All but the silence gone …

Some one is waiting and watching there,

In the little green orchard.

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