Page:Puck of Pook's Hill (Kipling, Millar).djvu/16



And see you, after rain, the trace
 * Of mound and ditch and wall?

O that was a Legion's camping-place,
 * When Cæsar sailed from Gaul.

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,
 * Salt Marsh where now is corn;

Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease,
 * And so was England born!

She is not any common Earth,
 * Water or Wood or Air,

But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye,
 * Where you and I will fare.