CAMOMILE TEA
There’s a hollow roaring from the sea.
And, alas! for the little almond flowers,
The wind is shaking the almond tree.
In that horrible cottage upon the Lee
That he and I should be sitting so
And sipping a cup of camomile tea.
The horn of the moon is plain to see;
By a firefly under a jonquil flower
A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.
So snug, so compact, so wise are we!
Under the kitchen-table leg
My knee is pressing against his knee.
The tap is dripping peacefully;
The saucepan shadows on the wall
Are black and round and plain to see.