North of me, south of me, spring is in flood, Day after day I have seen only gulls.... My path is full of petals – I have swept it for no others. My thatch gate has been closed – but opens now for you. It's a long way to the market, I can offer you little – Yet here in my cottage there is old wine for our cups. Shall we summon my elderly neighbour to join us, Call him through the fence, and pour the jar dry?