Out of the Weald, the secret Weald,
Men sent in ancient years,
The horse-shoes red at Flodden Field,
The arrows at Poitiers!
Trackway and Camp and City lost,
Salt Marsh where now is corn –
Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease,
And so was England born!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comment policy: All comments are welcome, but will be moderated (i.e. read by me before publishing). This may take time. Only comments which add something constructive to the post in question (and which will be of interest to other readers) will be published. Spam will be hosed out, and its originators hunted down. Thanks.