Twigworth Vicarage

Wakened by birds and sun, laughter of the wind,
A man might see all heart’s desire by raising
His pillowed sleepy head (still apt for lazing
And drowsy thought)--but then a green most kind
Waved welcome, and the rifted sky behind
Showed blue, whereon cloud-ships full-sailed went racing,
Man to delight and set his heart on praising
The Maker of all things, bountiful-hearted, kind.

May Hill, that half-revealéd tree-clad thing,
Maisemore’s delightful ridge, where Severn flowing
Nourished a wealth of lovely wild things blowing
Sweet as the air--Wainlodes and Ashleworth
To northward showed, a land where a great king
Might sit to receive homage from the whole earth.