The fields were upholstered with poppies so red,
And black as my hat was each rook;
And the hedges were bordered, like quilts on a bed,
With the bombazine braid of the brook.
And I thought to myself, with an auctioneer's smirk.
As I gazed on the freehold so rare:
'O Lord, if on Earth these chaste shows are thy work.
Of what is the Kingdom up there?'