Whoever Walks Along There
Stops Short And Sees,
By The Moist Tree-Roots
In A Clearing Of The Trees,
Yellow Great Battalions
Blowing In The Breeze.

And All The Rocking Beech-Trees
Are Bright With Buds Again,
And The Green And Open Spaces
Are Greener After Rain.
Yes, I Shall Stand
Where As A Boy I Stood
Above The Levels
In The Beach Road
I Ll Smell Again The Sea Breeze,
Salt And Harsh And Good.
Wilfred John