Fragments from Richard

(iii)
But what drew shepherd Richard from his downs,
And bred acquaintance of unused towns?
What put taught graces on his country lip,
And brought the sense of gentle fellowship
That many centres found in many hearts?
And the tinklings on the falls and swells
Gave the much music of our Oxford bells?

(iv)
A Sylvester, come, Sylvester; you may trust
Your footing now to the much dreaded dust,
Crisp'd up and starchy from a short half-hour
Of standing to he blossom-hitting shower
That still makes counter-roundels in the pond.
A rainbow also shapes itself beyond
The shining slates and houses. Come and see.
You may quote Wordsworth, if you like, to me.
Sylvester came: they went by Cumnor Hill,
Met a new shower and saw the rainbow fill
From one frail horn that crumbled to the plain
His steady wheel quite to the full again.
They watched the brush of the swift stringy drops,
Help'd by the darkness of a block of copse
Close-rooted in the downward-hollowing fields;
Then sought such leafy shelter as it yields,
And each drew bluebells up, and for relief
Took primroses, their pull'd and plotted leaf
Being not forgotten, for primroses note
The blue with brighter places not remote.