This poem was written at Easter 1915
I will abide
And make my dwelling here
Whatso betide
Since there is more to fear
Out yonder. Though
This world is dear and wan,
I dare not go
To dreaming Avalon,
Nor look what lands
May lie beyond the last
Strange sunset strands
That glean when day is past
I'the yearning west,
Nor seek some faery town
Nor cloud land, lest
I lose the hills of Down,
The long, low hills of Down.
Not I alone,
If I were gone, must weep;
Themselves would moan
From glen to topmost steep.
Cold, snow pure wells
Sweet with the spring tide's scent,
Forsaken fells
That only I frequent -
And uplands bare
Would call for me above,
Were I not there
To roam the hills I love.
For I alone
Have loved their loneliness;
None else hath known
Nor seen the goodliness
Of the green hills of Down.
The soft low hills of Down.
Comments