Ryton Firs

The Voices in the Dream

Follow my heart, my dancing feet,

Dance as blithe as my heart can beat.

Only can dancing understand

What a heavenly way we pass

Treading the green and golden land,

Daffodillies and grass.

I had a song, too, on my road,

But mine was in my eyes;

For Malvern Hills were with me all the way,

Singing loveliest visible melodies

Blue as a south-sea bay;

And ruddy as wine of France

Breadths of new-turn'd ploughland under them glowed.

'Twas my heart then must dance

To dwell in my delight;

No need to sing when all in song my sight

Moved over hills so musically made

And with such colour played. —

And only yesterday it was I saw

Veil'd in streamers of grey wavering smoke

My shapely Malvern Hills.

That was the last hail-storm to trouble spring:

He came in gloomy haste,

Pusht in front of the white clouds quietly basking,

In such a hurry he tript against the hills

And stumbling forward spilt over his shoulders

All his black baggage held,

Streaking downpour of hail.

Then fled dismayed, and the sun in golden glee

And the high white clouds laught down his dusky ghost.