THE grey mornings I well remember, The grey mountains new-waked from slumber, The grey dews on the trees and hedges, And in grey distance the grey sea's edges. Cool it was, sweet beyond telling, The grey-green hay in the pastures smelling, The grey meadows wet as a river, The grey dew where the grass-blades quiver. Grey gulls and the sea-grey swallow Take the track that my heart would follow. Home from the heat and the cruel weather, That I and my heart might fare together! Purple-grey are the wild hills showing, Silver-grey is the west wind blowing. O grey fields and grey hills behind you, Would my feet might follow and find you! |