Pickthorn Manor: 05

Amy Lowell

He was a soldier, she was proud of that.
 This was his house and she would keep it well.
His honour was in fighting, hers in what
 He’d left her here in charge of.  Then a spell
Of conscience sent her through the orchard spying
 Upon the gardeners.  Were their tools about?
    Were any branches broken?  Had the weeds
 Been duly taken out
Under the ’spaliered pears, and were these lying
Nailed snug against the sunny bricks and drying
    Their leaves and satisfying all their needs?

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