THE PADDOCK
Andrew! I want transplanting....It’s because
You’ve set me on my feet, I want to walk.
Repay you, darling mother-sister Liz,
I never can—but, which will pay you most:
Janet stuck here, stagnating, half alive,
A melancholy, meek, moss-cover’d log—
Mouldering inside: or, Janet somewhere else,
The whole live woman that you’ve made her be,
At her right work, you’ve fitted her to do?
That’s it! You’ve done it, Liz! You’ve made me live,
And now I want to—Oh, I must! I must!
You’d see it, too, if I could only tell you.
Oh, it’ll break my heart to leave you, dear,
And jolly, little Andy....Yet I’d give
My eyes to do it; for it seems to me
Staying will leave me with no heart to break.
All very well for Andrew; he’s seen things:
He’s tried his luck. But what have I seen? School,
Four or five farms, not even a real big town,
One scrap of sea! While there’s the whole live world
Beyond, with all one’s ever read about,
To see, and test, and tackle and take in.
—Think....Home!—old cities—London, and the Rhine—
Places where things have happen’d, famous folk—
Music (Ah me!), palaces, ships, and soldiers—
Swallows, and cowslips — vineyards — jewels — plays—
New animals and flowers — new clothes — new customs—
And people! lots and lots and lots of people!
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