No love-story has ever been told twice. I never heard any tale of lovers that did not seem to me as new as the world on its first morning. - Eleanor Farjeon

In the woods the bluebells seem
Like a blue and magic dream,
Blue water, light and air
Flow among them there.

But the eager girl who pulls
Bluebells up in basketfuls
When she gets them home will find
The magic left behind.

Spinners in the Sun THEY SPIN FOR life that is their need, They spin for life that looks like greed, They are unconscious as they spin Of the stuff they labour in, Save as it serves dear life to feed. In the autumnal air their nets They hang, and as September wets The web with dew, or shines in it Until the film with light is lit, The eye that looks on it forgets The reason why the work began; The wondering eye of child and man Sees only that the spinners’ pains Caught beauty in its filmy chains.

His tail was a fountain. His nostrils were caves. His mane and his forelock Were musical waves. He neighed like a trumpet. He cooed like a dove. He was stronger than terror And swifter than love.