<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="" class="head">Hills of Home</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">TO gloam-blue hills that shadow moorland spaces,</p><p class="line">To legend-haunted vales where all is still.</p><p class="line">To that grey land where slumber martyred races.</p><p class="line">My spirit flees at will.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">I hear from far away the whaup's wild crying</p><p class="line">Low o'er the moor and wind-swept fringe of sea.</p><p class="line">And longing fills my breast and I am sighing—</p><p class="line">Sighing for love of thee.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">I see, as in a spell, the bracken flowing</p><p class="line">Like silver streams beneath a battered moon;</p><p class="line">I see the heather darker, redder blowing—</p><p class="line">Flushing to crimson soon!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">In dreams I 1-oam the long-forsaken places,</p><p class="line">In scented wood, by rill and grassy howe;</p><p class="line">And, smiling, greet the old familiar faces—</p><p class="line">And I am happy now!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Dear Hills of Home, I ask but this of Heaven</p><p class="line">(If thou my captive spirit wilt not free!)</p><p class="line">I'hat in my dying moments I be given</p><p class="line">One last, fond kiss from thee.</p></div><p>1916.</p></body></html> · Great War