Enid Derham

Let others prate of Greece and Rome, And towns where they may never be, The muse should wander nearer home.

When the impatient spirit leaves behind The clogging hours and makes no dear delay To drop this Nessus-shirt of night and day,

I leave the world to-morrow, What news for Fairyland? I'm tired of dust and sorrow

O city, look the Eastward way! Beyond thy roofs of shadowy red and grey Floats like a lily on the airy stream,

The Soul, of late a lovely sleeping child, Spreads sudden wings and stands in radiant guise, Eyed like the morn and bent upon the skies;

Coming down the mountain road Light of heart and all alone, I caught from every rill that flowed

Miles and miles of quiet houses, every house a harbour, Each for some unquiet soul a haven and a home, Pleasant fires for winter nights, for sun the trellised arbour,

My folk's the wind-folk, it's there I belong, I tread the earth below them, and the earth does me wrong, Before my spirit knew itself, before this frame unfurled,