“ I walk of grey noons by the old canal”
by Thomas Caulfield Irwin (1823-1892)

I walk of grey noons by the old canal
      Where rain-drops patter on the autumn leaves,
Now watching from some ivied orchard wall
      In slopes of stubble figures pile the sheaves;
Or under banks in shadow of their grass,
Blue water-flies by starts jettingly pass
’Mid large leaves level on the glassy cool;
      Or noiseless dizzy midges winking round
The yellow sallows of the meadow pool;
      While into cloudy silence ebbs each sound,
And sifts the moulting sunlight warm and mellow
O’er sandy beach remote, or slumberous flood,
Or rooky, red brick mansion by the wood,
      Mossed gate, or farmyard hay-stacks tanned and yellow.

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