About: The House Called Podmores Thatch   Sponge Permalink

An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

Its garden still bequeaths its brightest flowers To ador Saint Michaels church. The alter wreathed with it's scented bowers The pews bedecked with Silver Birch. The ancient well gives of its water clear To fill the Saxon bowl. And with tilted head a child held dear Is wetted to save its soul. It's apple Its trees still bear Russet fruit In the season of the year. The small round pond where swims the newt And frogs in courtship you hear. At night when owls do glide on silent wing, Black bats do sally forth. A child's old swing swayed gently by the wind, Cooled by snows to the north. Robert Harrison

AttributesValues
rdfs:label
  • The House Called Podmores Thatch
rdfs:comment
  • Its garden still bequeaths its brightest flowers To ador Saint Michaels church. The alter wreathed with it's scented bowers The pews bedecked with Silver Birch. The ancient well gives of its water clear To fill the Saxon bowl. And with tilted head a child held dear Is wetted to save its soul. It's apple Its trees still bear Russet fruit In the season of the year. The small round pond where swims the newt And frogs in courtship you hear. At night when owls do glide on silent wing, Black bats do sally forth. A child's old swing swayed gently by the wind, Cooled by snows to the north. Robert Harrison
dcterms:subject
abstract
  • Its garden still bequeaths its brightest flowers To ador Saint Michaels church. The alter wreathed with it's scented bowers The pews bedecked with Silver Birch. The ancient well gives of its water clear To fill the Saxon bowl. And with tilted head a child held dear Is wetted to save its soul. It's apple Its trees still bear Russet fruit In the season of the year. The small round pond where swims the newt And frogs in courtship you hear. At night when owls do glide on silent wing, Black bats do sally forth. A child's old swing swayed gently by the wind, Cooled by snows to the north. The old house stood in proud defiant stance, Its windows no longer lit By smoking lamp and fire lights merry dance Where once the young did sit. Its future for years once held in ambiguous doubt As the curious came to view. Until a young bride, excited did in silent shout Did foresee its future anew. The house now restored to its former proud glory Its windows curtained bright. Podmoors Thatch oft seen in pictured book story, And firelight holds back the night. Two hives in the garden are full of sweet honey, The bees having played their part For the bride who restored the house not with money, But with the love she held in her heart Robert Harrison
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