ENGLAND
No lovelier hills than thine
have laid
My tired thoughts to rest,
No peace of lovelier valleys
made
Like peace within my breast.
*
Thine are the woods whereto my
soul
Out of the noontide beam,
Flees for a refuge green and
cool
And tranquil as a dream.
*
Thy breaking seas like a
trumpets past, Thy clouds -how
oft have I
Watch their bright towers of
silence steat
Into infinity!
My heart within me faints to
roam
In thought even far from thee;
Thine be the grave whereto I
ncome
And thine may darkness be!
Walter De La Mare
[An Appeal against the
desecration of our English
landscape and seascape now in
progress because Mankind with
its supposed superior mind has
chosen to destroy the very
beauty of nature in order to
satisfy its thirst for energy
and the immediate increased
profits plundered from the
majority in order to destroy the
very BEAUTY which is the very
SOUL of MANKIND.
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