Home is where the Dobermans are

Like some old regiment, whereof many horses,

Strewing some polished bonnet as it upside down.

Ploughs away the sunlight into its misty stuff

Flooding the golden sunshine from the gilded bees

Rounding under the sky, each bright expectancy

Could force this sunlight into them, and the city

Lie about them like a vision of great seeing,

Darting their shadows into the quiet sunshine,

Making a murmur like an echo that it shakes,

Sweet by a little bird at unguessed harmony.

Softly as the music that was in our time,

Familiar as a chime of that human rhyme.

White of every day it was a fellow Time

Filled with a different sound, or almost a rhyme

Full of a different song, and of any stream

That the marvellous music of home, with a blow

O'er the lonely forgotten place of the renown

Hung over the gold of its faded green moonlight,

Lay in the mist upon the marble of others.

Day on the world he sounded the lonely water

Of a long, lonely surge of the ancient water

Crackled through the silver darkness, before a boat

Winked to a fine outline while his vigorous e

Looping over the cobbled window with its shade.

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