England
Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom, Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam,
Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom, Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home.
Lanes that are white with hawthorn, dykes where the sedges shiver, Hollows where caged winds slumber, moorlands where winds wake free,
Sowing and reaping and gleaning, spring and torrent and river, Are they not more, by worlds, than the whole of the world can be?
Is there a corner of land, a furze-fringed rag of a by-way, Coign of your foam-white cliffs or swirl of your grass-green waves,
Leaf of your peaceful copse, or dust of your strenuous highway, But in our hearts is sacred, dear as our cradles, our graves?
Is not each bough in your orchards, each cloud in the skies above you, Is not each byre or homestead, furrow or farm or fold,
Dear as the last dear drops of the blood in the hearts that love you, Filling those hearts till the love is more than the heart can hold?
This piece, an extract from the much longer "The Rainbow And The Rose" is taken from R.
V.
Lucas's collection "The Open Road" {Methuen 1931] page 54-5
Edith Nesbit
Other author posts
The Last Betrayal
ND I shall lie alone at last, Clear of the stream that ran so fast, And feel the flower roots in my hair, And in my hands the roots of trees;
Spring In War-Time
Now the sprinkled blackthorn Lies along the lover’s Where last year we used to go-Where we shall not go again In the hedge the buds are new,
The Fields Of Flanders
Last year the fields were all glad and With silver daisies and silver may; There were kingcups gold by the river's And primrose stars under every hedge
A Brown Study
ET them sing of their primrose and cowslip, Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair, Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets, All the pale dreamy things they find fair; Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine, The whir of brown wing...
