I Know A Hidden Field....

I know a hidden field of ridge and furrow
              Far from track or human tread,
Where grasses sigh and coneys burrow,
       Where the cowslips dot the midden,
    Where a skylark hovers, hidden,
             Very high above your head.
I know an ancient road men call The Drover,
             Free of fences, gate or wire;
A chalky way of turf and clover,
     There the hedge is white at May time,
     There a barn owl roosts in daytime
             Snug within a ruined byre.

I know a Druid yew, a silent mourner,
              Mourning what, I do not know.
It stands within a pasture corner,
      Grim with age, grown gaunt and hollow,
      Guarding still some secret sorrow;
              Rot within and grief below.

I know a grassy mound, an orchard parcel
              Tucked beside a hazel wood,
There the lambs play king o’ the castle,
      There I’ve sat amid the cherries,
      Swearing I’d be back for berries—
           Knowing that I never should.