[corresponds to page 34 of Edith Thomas Scrabook]
By the way, may I send this
The Light Sleeper
By his lov’d nest and hopes, sits fast
The sedge bird in some dewy covert deep:
Throw the least pebble there, he quickly
Quickly the long bright day’s refrain
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.
(not yet printed)
White: History of Selborne) 9/94
[printed poems also pasted on page]