Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/103

 ��THE DEFENDERS

His wage of rest at nightfall still

He takes, who sixty years has known

Of ploughing over Cotsall hill

And keeping trim the Cotsall stone.

He meditates the dusk, and sees Folds of his wonted shepherdings

And lands of stubble and tall trees Becoming insubstantial things.

And does he see on Cotsall hill — Thrown even to the central shire — •

The funnelled shapes forbidding still The stranger from his cottage fire ?

— John Drinkwatcr.

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