Little did I dream, of England, that bore me
Under the Cotswold Hills beside the water meadows,
To do you dreadful service, here, beyond your borders
And enfolding seas.

I was dreamer ever, and bound to your dear service
Meditating deep, I thought on your on your secret beauty.
As through a child's face one may see the clear spirit
Miraculously shining

Your hills not only hills, but friends of mine and kindly,
Your tiny orchard-knolls hidden beside the river
Muddy and strong flowing with sky and tiny streamlets
Safe in it's bosom.

Now these are memories only, and yout skies and rushy
sky-pools
Fragile mirrors easily broken by moving airs
But deep in my heart for ever goes on your daily being
And uses consecrate

Think on me too, O Mother, who wrest my soul to serve you
In strange ways and fearful be fearful beyond your encircling waters
None but you, repay.

Ivor Gurney