Little did I dream, England, that you bore me <br />Under the Cotswold Rills beside the water meadows <br />To do you dreadful service, here, beyond your borders <br />And your enfolding seas. <br /> <br />I was a dreamer ever, and bound to your dear service <br />Meditating deep, I thought on your secret beauty, <br />As through a child's face one may see the clear spirit <br />Miraculously shining. <br /> <br />Your hills not only hills, but friends of mine and kindly <br />Your tiny knolls and orchards hidden beside the river <br />Muddy and strongly flowing, with shy and tiny streamlets <br />Safe in its bosom. <br /> <br />Now these are memories only, and your skies and rushy <br />sky-pools <br />Fragile mirrors easily broken by moving airs; <br />But deep in my heart for ever goes on your daily being <br />And uses consecrate. <br /> <br />Think on me too, O Mother, who wrest my soul to serve <br />you <br />In strange and fearful ways beyond your encircling waters; <br />None but you can know my heart, its tears and sacrifice, <br />None, but you, repay.<br /><br />Ivor Gurney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/strange-service/
