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:
"Oh Lord, if on Earth these chaste shows are thy work,
"Of what is the Kingdom up there?"