[corresponds to page 34 of Edith Thomas Scrabook]
By the way, may I send this
extra copy?
The Light Sleeper
By his lov’d nest and hopes, sits fast
asleep
The sedge bird in some dewy covert deep:
Throw the least pebble there, he quickly
wakes [line]
Quickly the long bright day’s refrain
uptakes.
So it is with the Muse’s sleeping [crossed out] slumbering [written above] child:
His conch is made upon Parnassus wild.
If sleep departs, song wakes within his breast
And pours the old melodious unrest.
Edith Thomas
(not yet printed)
White: History of Selborne) 9/94
[printed poems also pasted on page]