  Ink black and lustreless may hold A passion full of living fire: Spring’s green the Autumn does enfold— Things precious hide their bright in the mire. And a whole county’s lovely pride In one small book I found that made More real the pictured Severn side Than crash and shock of cannonade. Beneath, more strong than that dread noise The talk I heard of trees and men, The still low-murmuring Earth-voice ... God send us dreams in peace again. |
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