Behold before it falls-- Behold the mighty hand Of Nature on the walls Of the hollow land! ON BIRDLIP I’ve tramped a score of miles to-day And now on Cotswold stand, Wondering if in any way Their owners understand How all those little gold fields I see And the great green woods beyond Have given themselves to me, to me Who own not an inch of land. Because I loved with deep desire, Wooing all as I walked, This noble country by tree and spire Taught (as if music talked) How Beauty is never bought or sold, But freely given to them Who worship more than crowns of gold Her dew-bright diadem. _Now_ all that under open heaven I see of arable Or pasture land to me is given, As runs the parable-- “To him that hath not----” Even so, For all we love is ours While the little streams of Cotswold flow, Swaying forget-me-not flowers. OUT OF THE CITY Here in the ring of the hills, Under a cloudy sky, Content at last I lie Where Peace o’erspills Like a cool rain which giveth This brave daisy scent And wine of sacrament Whereby he liveth. The big hooters may howl, Men quarrel, whistles screech, I will hear only the speech Of my forgotten soul, Which is the speech of trees, Soft yet of clarity And brimmed with verity And all gay peace. A SONG O, Cranham ways are steep and green And Cranham woods are high, And if I was that black rook, It’s there that I would fly. But since I’m here in London town, A silly walking man; I’ll make this song and caw it As loudly as I can. MAY-FLOOD Now the Spring’s cold Foam-crested waves, the bright Hedges, delay To break and quench the light Of golden fields with spray Of hawthorn. As of old Men saw the steep Walls of the Red Sea round them, Quiet sheep Watch the wild hedge forbear to drown them. BIG THINGS AND SMALL This spinning spark in space--our Earth and all Its vast envelopment of ancient night-- Is not a wonder greater or less than the white Blossom now in the orchards, soon to fall. And let men learn the secret of that bloom And all its beauty’s wonder, they shall know Life to the core; and they with God may go To make a daisy or the day of doom. AFTER LONG WANDERING I will go back to Gloucestershire, To the spot where I was born, To the talk at eve with men and women And song on the roads at morn. And I’ll sing as I tramp by dusty hedges Or drink my ale in the shade How Gloucestershire is the finest home That the Lord God ever made.