And did those feet in ancient times. Walk upon England's mountains green?. And was the holy lamb of God. On England's pleasant pasture's scene?. . And did the countenance divine. Shined forth up
Lucy, remember. The smell of that fall. The fires of fungus. And the rotting leaves. . I fell off the wagon. Into your arms. Into this long month of sundays. . And you were my husband. My wi
There passed a summer. Where our children went to war. Of conviction without cause. Furnaces in the borough I was born. Dreaming echelons. Above my station. . These corners I walk in. I waited