| A LITTLE flock of clouds go down to rest | |
| In some blue corner off the moon's highway, | |
| With shepherd-winds that shook them in the West | |
| To borrowed shapes of earth, in bright array, | |
| Perhaps to weave a rainbow's gay festoons | 5 |
| Around the lonesome isle which Brooke has made | |
| A little England full of lovely noons, | |
| Or dot it with his country's mountain shade. | |
| |
| Ah, little wanderers, when you reach that isle | |
| Tell him, with dripping dew, they have not failed, | 10 |
| What he loved most; for late I roamed a while | |
| Thro' English fields and down her rivers sailed; | |
| And they remember him with beauty caught | |
| From old desires of Oriental Spring | |
| Heard in his heart with singing overwrought; | 15 |
| And still on Purley Common gooseboys sing. | |