At two o'clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen,You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun.And the trees in the Shadow rustle and the trees in the moonlight glisten,And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is done.

A fool lies here who tried to hustle the East.

What is a woman that you forsake herAnd the hearth fire and the home acreTo go with that old grey widow-maker?

Day after day, the whole day through—Wherever my road inclined—Four-Feet said, "I am coming with you!"And trotted along behind.

Take of English earth as muchAs either hand may rightly clutch.In the taking of it breathePrayer for all who lie beneath.Not the great nor well-bespoke,But the mere uncounted folkOf whose life and death is noneReport or lamentation.Lay that earth upon thy heart,And thy sickness shall depart!

Of all the trees that grow so fair Old England to adorn, Greater are none beneath the Sun Than Oak, and Ash and Thorn.