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Poems of Vita Sackville-West


LET us go back together to the hills. Weary am I of palaces
and courts, Weary of words disloyal to my thoughts,— Come,
my beloved, let us to the hills.
Let us go back together to the land, And wander hand in hand
upon the heights; Kings have we seen, and manifold delights,—
Oh, my beloved, let us to the land!
Lone and unshackled, let us to the road Which holds
enchantment round each hidden bend, Our course uncompassed
and our whim its end, Our feet once more, beloved, to the road!
SONG: MY SPIRIT LIKE A SHEPHERD BOY"Convalescente
di squisiti mali"
MY spirit like a shepherd boy Goes dancing down the
lane. When all the world is young with joy Must I lie here in
pain?
With shepherd's pipe my spirit fled And cloven foot of
Pan; The mortal bondage he has shed And shackling yoke of
man.
And though he leave me cold and mute, A traitor to his
care, I smile to hear his honeyed flute Hang on the scented
air.
CONVALESCENCE
WHEN I am in the Orient once again, And turn into the gay
and squalid street, One side in the shadow, one in vivid
heat, The thought of England, fresh beneath the rain, Will rise
unbidden as a gently pain. The lonely hours of illness, as they
beat Crawling through days with slow laborious feet, And I
lay gazing through the leaded pane, Idle, and listened to the
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