I Saw England — July Night

She was a village Of lovely knowledge The high roads left her aside, she was forlorn, a maid — Water ran there, dusk hid her, she climbed four-wayed. Brown-gold windows showed last folk not yet asleep; Water ran, was a centre of silence deep, Fathomless deeps of pricked sky, almost fathomless Hallowed an upward gaze in pale satin of blue. And I was happy indeed, of mind, soul, body even Having got given A sign undoubtful of a dear England few Doubt, not many have seen, That Will Squele he knew and was so shriven. Home of Twelfth Night — Edward Thomas by Arras fallen, Borrow and Hardy, Sussex tales out of Roman heights callen. No madrigals or field-songs to my all reverent whim; Till I got back I was dumb.