When daffodils danced in Chuck Hatch, and white clouds <br />Drew their own shadowy purple across the hills, <br />Darkening the valley where the small flint church <br />The Saxon built stood roofless to the sun, <br />Believe me, Memory, it was not a shadow! <br />No shadow of a cloud you saw that day <br />Flowing across the smooth deep-breasted downs, <br />But something darker, sweeter,--the wild thyme <br />Of Sussex, flowing like a river of joy <br />That tossed a hundred skylarks up. <br /> No shadow, <br />Believe me, Memory, but the purple thyme <br />Flowing by windmill and by wattled fold <br />On to the white chalk coast and sparkling sea.<br /><br />Alfred Noyes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shadows-on-the-down/
