Up here, with June, the sycamore throws <br />Across the window a whispering screen; <br />I shall miss the sycamore more I suppose, <br />Than anything else on this earth that is out in green. <br />But I mean to go through the door without fear, <br />Not caring much what happens here <br />When I’m away: -- <br />How green the screen is across the panes <br />Or who goes laughing along the lanes <br />With my old lover all the summer day.<br /><br />Charlotte Mary Mew<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-a-window-2/
