The pivotal movement in the poem occurs in Lines 43-47 when the poet turns his attention from the natural wealth of the Penshurst estate to the family who lives there. The pivot rests on the vine-covered walls that enclose it. Within a contemporary culture-wide perception of the function of walls, walls presumably are intended to protect, keep the unwanted out, mark territory in a gesture of bald ownership, and ultimately maintain a secured parameter around all that is claimed. Walls, imposing and absolute, keep out. Such, the poet ruefully notes, defines the steeped and high-reaching boundary walls of estates all about Penshurst, estates built by the new rich jealous of their property and eager to separate themselves. But not so much the Sydney estate.

The poet, to establish the Sydney family’s largesse and its code of hospitality, lingers long enough on the estate wall to reveal that the wall itself is something less than imposing. It is, indeed, barely the height of child, a reassuring and inviting metaphor, and in fact invites children to pluck fruits from its abundant vines. The foundation “country stone” (Line 45) of the wall itself is thus softened, hidden by the gentle green curl of the wild vines, greenery that makes the potentially imposing face of an estate wall ironic.