Before Action
I SIT beside the brazier’s glow,
And, drowsing in the heat,
A dream of daffodils that blow
And lambs that frisk and bleat—
Black lambs that frolic in the snow
Among the daffodils,
In a far orchard that I know
Beneath the Malvern hills.
Next year the daffodils will blow,
And lambs will frisk and bleat;
But I’ll not feel the the brazier’s glow,
Nor any cold or heat.
