6
SUFFOLK
MEMORIES.
SUFFOLK MEMORIES. I know a river, flowing to the sea, Flanked by rieh pastures where the ' Meadow Brown ' Over the grasses flutters up and down ; And all around a radiant Company Of burnished ' Coppers,' ' Heaths ' and shimmering ' Blue '— Gems that alone the summer sunshine brings— 'Lighting on clover blooms with outspread wings, Ere they again resume their aerial cruise. I know a wind-fwept heath, with heather crowned, Where ' Graylings ' muster and in sluggish flight Circle around, returning to alight Where'er the choicest nectar may be found. Here too, perchance, the passer-by may see, Over the brambles, sailing proudly on— Vision of loveliness so swiftly gone— T h e glorious ' Silver-Washed Fritillary.' I know a Clearing b y an oak-wood's edge
Where nimble ' Hairstreak,' purple, brown and green, Sometimes, alas not often, may be seen About the branches in the leafy hedge. T h e ' Comma ' and ' White Admiral ' hold sway ; T h e ' Ringlet ' and the w a y w a r d ' Orange T i p ' ; Seeking the fragrant blooms where they may sip And sun themselves through the long summer day. I know a Buddleia whose blossoms grace An old-world garden nestling in a dell, Where ' Peacock,' ' Brimstone ' and the ' Tortoiseshell ' Vie with ' Red Admirals ' for pride of place. T h e ' Wall ' is here ; and here, too, hour by hour T h e ' Painted L a d y , ' glorying in her name, Putting the common ' Garden Whites ' to shame, Returns persistent to the honeyed flower. All these I know. Yet have I still to f i n d T h a t unfrequented wood where ' Emperors ' are ; T h e ' Swallow-Tail,' that haunts the alder-carr, Fain would I meet with, if the Fates be kind. W h o knows ? O'er lonely fenlands, open, free, ' Camberwell Beauties ' still may hold their own ; And the ' Large Coppers,' many years unknown, Fulfil in solitude their destiny. LAURENCE H .
S.
CHEVALLIER.
September
1942.