 | Sonnets Round the Coast |  |
192
XXX. GOATHLAND.
Deep in the hollow moorland, but completeFor lives that own the simple village rule,
The one-belled church, the tiny cottage school,
The lowly hostel where the shepherds meet.
When in the vale the landscape swoons for heat
And sultry August drinks the roadside pool,
The air about thy brows is fresh and cool,
And only heather-smoke about thy feet.
Then, Goathland, to thy wilderness we turn,
For there our children enter paradise:
The world is larger than they else could learn;
Their cheeks are flushed with every knoll's surprise,
They pluck great gifts of heather and of fern,
Lavish for Nature's generosities.
| Sonnets Round the Coast | |