Poem by Dorothy Una Ratcliffe

Rushes

Rushes by the river
    Rear their heads of brown;
In the wind they quiver
    With a warning frown.
"Do you want them, Fairest?
    At thy feet they lie;
They were guarding, Rarest,—
    Sentinels!—They die."

Wild things are not willing
    To be captive ta'en:
"Cutting's almost killing,"
    Is their sad refrain.
"Rushes in their beauty
    Greenly-proud should stand:
Guarding is their duty—
    River from the land."

DARLEY, NIDDERDALE.

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3. Song of the Mists
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5. Satan and I

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