A nation of hayricks spotting the green solace
Of grass,
And thrones of thatch ruling a yellow kingdom
Of barley.
In the green lands, the white nation of sheep.
And the woodlands,
Red, the delicate tribes of roebuck, doe
And fawn.
A senate of steeples guarding the slaty and gabled
Shires,
While aloof the elder houses hold a secret
Sceptre.
To the north, a wall touching two stone-grey reaches
Of water;
A circle of stones; then to the south a chalk-white
Stallion.
To the north, the wireless towers upon the cliff.
Southward
The powerhouse, and monstrous constellations
Of cities.
To the north, the pilgrims along the holy roads
To Walsingham,
And southward, the road to Shottery, shining
With daisies.
Over the castle of Warwick frightened birds
Are fleeing,
And on the bridge, faces upturned to a roaring
Falcon.