64520: To R.N.

<p dir="ltr"> (From Frise on the Somme in February 1917, in answer to a letter, saying: 'I am just finishing my ""Faun"" poem: I wish you were here to feed him with cherries.')<br> Here by a snow-bound river<br> In scrapen holes we shiver,<br> And like old bitterns we<br> Boom to you plaintively.<br> Robert, how can I rhyme<br> Verses at your desire---<br> Sleek fauns and cherry-time,<br> Vague music and green trees,<br> Hot sun and gentle breeze,<br> England in June attire,<br> And life born young again,<br> For your gay goatish brute<br> Drunk with warm melody<br> Singing on beds of thyme<br> With red and rolling eye,<br> Waking with wanton lute<br> All the Devonian plain,<br> Lips dark with juicy stain,<br> Ears hung with bobbing fruit?<br> Why should I keep him time?<br> Why in this cold and rime<br> Where even to think is pain?<br> No, Robert, there's no reason;<br> Cherries are out of season,<br> Ice grips at branch and root,<br> And singing birds are mute.</p>