PUCK'S SONG See you the dimpled track that runs, See you our little mill that clacks, She has ground her corn and paid her tax See you our stilly woods of oak, See you the windy levels spread O that was where the Northmen fled, See you our pastures wide and lone, And see you, after rain, the trace O that was a Legion's camping-place, And see you marks that show and fade, Like shadows on the Downs? O they are the lines the Flint Men made, To guard their wondrous towns. Trackway and Camp and City lost, She is not any common Earth, But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye, |