  I’m just in love with all these three, The Weald and the Marsh and the Down countrie; Nor I don’t know which I love the most, The Weald or the Marsh or the white chalk coast! I’ve buried my heart in a ferny hill, Twix’ a liddle low Shaw an’ a great high Gill. Oh hop-vine yaller and woodsmoke blue, I reckon you’ll keep her middling true! I’ve loosed my mind for to out and run, On a Marsh that was old when Kings begun; Oh Romney Level and Brenzett reeds, I reckon you know what my mind needs! I’ve given my soul to the Southdown grass, And sheep-bells tinkled where you pass. Oh Firle an’ Ditchling an’ sails at sea, I reckon you’ll keep my soul or me! |
|
