| |
|
This
ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors
Many a
frozen night, and merrily
Answered staid drinkers,
good bedmen, and all bores:
"At Mrs Greenland's
Hawthorn Bush," said he,
"I slept." None knew which
bush. Above the town,
Beyond `The Drover', a hundred
spot the down
In Wiltshire. And where now at last he
sleeps
More sound in France -that, too, he secret
keeps.
|
|
|
