Page:Marlborough and other poems, Sorley, 1919.djvu/102

 Old mother of the four grass ways).

And then my mouth is dumb with praise,

For, past the wood and chalkpit tiny,

A glimpse of Marlborough !

So I descend beneath the rail

To warmth and welcome and wassail.

This from the battered trenches—rough,

Jingling and tedious enough.

And so I sign myself to you:

One, who some crooked pathways knew

Round Bedwyn: who could scarcely leave

The Downs on a December eve:

Was at his happiest in shorts,

And got—not many good reports!

Small skill of rhyming in his hand—

But you'll forgive—you'll understand.

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