"My Dreams Are of A Field Afar"
"Terence, this is stupid stuff"
1887
Along the fields as we came by
As through the wild green hills of Wyre
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle
Bredon Hill
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw
Clunton and Clunbury
Far in a western brookland
Farewell to barn and stack and tree
From Clee to heaven the beacon burns
