The breath of God, a wind from heaven's throne,
Like friendship's sweetness, and like pain's sharp strength,
Outstretching mightily to memory's length —
The free and wind-swept Marlborough Downs, my own.
Ah, Marlborough, Martinsell, and Granham Hill !
To see below the little town outspread,
Standing beside the old White Horse's head.
That 'pads and pads,' unmoved and silent still.
The twin grey towers, a double sentinel,
The Chapel spire, the Mound, the Wilderness,
The bridge, and Rennet's silver sluggishness, —
Ah, Marlborough, Granham Hill, and Martinsell !
To stand before the satyr-haunted wood.
Or where I see the Vale beneath my feet ;
Beyond, the Plain's bare edges — ah, 'twere sweet
To stand again where often I have stood !
Or where I stand, up high above the earth
On grand Four Miler's top, yet see beyond
The waving trees by Barbury's ancient mound.
And share the wind's ecstatic solemn mirth.
Or where from Liddington I may behold
The mighty plain that stretches out of sight
Beyond dark Swindon town, and with delight
Gaze on a world, and wonder, as of old.
These are my friends: men, trees, and grassy downs,
Deep starry nights, wide spaces, and the high
Stern hills that teach our immortality,
And peaceful streams, and old forgotten towns.
These whom I loved, I honour and I hail, —
All these, — because I do not know my fate,
And yet I know my love so deep and great
That, death or life betide, it shall not fail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
This was his 43rd published poem, written Aug 1917