Here through the grimy panes I see
Red bricks in stark solidity.
And yet within that barren wall
Of hard old bricks I can recall
The myriad hues that dwell for me
In bracken running to the sea --
Pale creamy gold and warm, rich tones
As roseate as sunset-cones,
Dense green, where on the hidden tracks,
The stems grow dark as beatles' back,
And purple deepening in the shade
To purple mauve of fronds that fade.
For all these colourings there be
In bracken running to the sea!
So here, while in this room I lie
Hemmed in by walls, I see a sky
As blue as summer seas and fair,
With sunshine spilling everywhere.
I hear again a lone grey thrush
Flute strangely in the underbrush,
And feel a wind play hide-and-seek
Among the tresses on my cheek.
Oh, joy that I can have them all
Through staring at an old brick wall,
Can have, close-pushing round my knee,
Wild bracken running to the sea!
First published in The Bulletin, 25 March 1926
