Home furthest off grows dearer from the way; <br />And when the army in the Indias lay <br />Friends' letters coming from his native place <br />Were like old neighbours with their country face. <br />And every opportunity that came <br />Opened the sheet to gaze upon the name <br />Of that loved village where he left his sheep <br />For more contented peaceful folk to keep; <br />And friendly faces absent many a year <br />Would from such letters in his mind appear. <br />And when his pockets, chafing through the case, <br />Wore it quite out ere others took the place, <br />Right loath to be of company bereft <br />He kept the fragments while a bit was left.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-soldier-24/
