Old sundial, you stand here for Time: For Love, the vine that round your base Its tendrils twines, and dares to climb And lay one flower-capped spray… - Eleanor Farjeon

Of troubles know I none, Of pleasures know I many — I rove beneath the sun Without a single penny.

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.

In Arcady there lies a crystal spring Ring'd all about with green melodious reeds Swaying seal'd music up and down the wind. Here on its time-defaced pedestal The image of a half-forgotten God Crumbles to its complete oblivion.