Weathamstead
To thy fresh slopes and hazel-shadowed lanes,
And sedgy river with its deep green nooks,
Where sits the watching hen, and skyward looks
The water-lily; - to thy breezy plains
And village homes, long years gone by I came,
Lured by the magic of a mighty name,
A glad enthusiast. I come once more, -
Not with the exulting heart which then I bore,
But with a heavy memory that never
Shall fail to shadow what bright hour soever, -
To find thee still as lovely as of yore,
And feel the poet’s truth iss written here, -
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever”;
Hearty and homely, loving Hertfordshire.
To thy fresh slopes and hazel-shadowed lanes,
And sedgy river with its deep green nooks,
Where sits the watching hen, and skyward looks
The water-lily; - to thy breezy plains
And village homes, long years gone by I came,
Lured by the magic of a mighty name,
A glad enthusiast. I come once more, -
Not with the exulting heart which then I bore,
But with a heavy memory that never
Shall fail to shadow what bright hour soever, -
To find thee still as lovely as of yore,
And feel the poet’s truth iss written here, -
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever”;
Hearty and homely, loving Hertfordshire.