Thursday, January 08, 2009

Shimmering Haze 1943

“... or see the distant goal of it, beyond the sunset's glow.
So fools may mock the faith of it
And wittols flout the wraith of it,
But we've a winding foot-path, where the ragged robins grow;
And still through Robin's England, those old oak-woods of England...
Through all the aisles of memory, his vanished bugles blow...”

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