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As Through The Wild Green Hills Of Wyre

Rating: 2.7

As through the wild green hills of Wyre
The train ran, changing sky and shire,
And far behind, a fading crest,
Low in the forsaken west
Sank the high-reared head of Clee,
My hand lay empty on my knee.
Aching on my knee it lay:
That morning half a shire away
So many an honest fellow's fist
Had well-nigh wrung it from the wrist.

Hand, said I, since now we part
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Sallie Howson 30 October 2004

How lovely to read this poem about my native Shropshire..and if anyone was wondering, Clee is a hill in Shropshire, Severn is the main river and Corve is a valley

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