Oh Fitzwilliam Lane
Little damp meadow.
I played upon you in my childhood,
I gazed on your wild plants:
Trembling grass, penny moons, marsh marigolds,
Cowslips, celandine and rushes.
I listened to the birds' songs, even the lark's.
But your greatest beauty was the May blossom,
And the year you were taken,
I had never seen your hedges so glorious.