 | Valete |  |
Dedicatory.
You, where the hills are uprolled
Grey from the yellowing fen,
Found dim glory of old,
Left it bright among men.
Child of the stream and the glen,
Singer of weald and of wold,
Take this gift from a pen
That in praise of the Poet is bold.
Grey from the yellowing fen,
Found dim glory of old,
Left it bright among men.
Child of the stream and the glen,
Singer of weald and of wold,
Take this gift from a pen
That in praise of the Poet is bold.
| Valete | |