From an Outpost

I've tramped South England up and down Down Dorset way, down Devon way, Through every little ancient town Down Dorset way, down Devon way. I mind the old stone churches there, The taverns round the market square, The cobbled streets, the garden flowers, The sundials telling peaceful hours Down Dorset way, down Devon way. The Meadowlands are green and fair Down Somerset and Sussex way, The clover scent is in the air Down Somerset and Sussex way. I mind the deep-thatched homesteads there The noble downlands, clean and bare. The sheepfolds and the cattle byres, The blue wood-smoke from shepherd's fires Down Dorset way, down Devon way. Mayhap I shall not walk again Down Dorset way, down Devon way, Nor pick a posy in a lane Down Somerset and Sussex way. But though my bones, unshriven, rot In some far distant alien spot, what soul I have shall rest from care To know that meadows still are fair Down Dorset way, down Devon way.