Among the woods and tillage <br />That fringe the topmost downs, <br />All lonely lies the village, <br />Far off from seas and towns. <br />Yet when her own folk slumbered <br />I heard within her street <br />Murmur of men unnumbered <br />And march of myriad feet. <br /> <br />For all she lies so lonely, <br />Far off from towns and seas, <br />The village holds not only <br />The roofs beneath her trees: <br />While Life is sweet and tragic <br />And Death is veiled and dumb, <br />Hither, by singer's magic, <br />The pilgrim world must come.<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yattendon/
