I will go out against the sun
Where the rolled scarp retires,
And the Long Man of Wilmington
Looks naked toward the shires;

And east till doubling Rother crawls
To find the fickle tide,

By dry and sea-forgotten walls,
Our ports of stranded pride.

I will go north about the shaws
And the deep ghylls that breed
Huge oaks and old, the which we hold
No more than "Sussex weed";
Or south where windy Piddinghoe's
Begilded dolphin veers,

And black beside wide-bankèd Ouse

Lie down our Sussex steers.

So to the land our hearts we give
Till the sure magic strike,

And Memory, Use, and Love make live

Us and our fields alike

That deeper than our speech and thought,

Beyond our reason's sway,

Clay of the pit whence we were wrought Yearns to its fellow-clay.

God gives all men all earth to love,
But since man's heart is small,

Ordains for each one spot shall prove
Beloved over all.

Each to his choice, and I rejoice

The lot has fallen to me

In a fair ground—in a fair ground— Yea, Sussex by the sea!

SONG OF THE WISE CHILDREN

WHEN the darkened Fifties dip to the North,
And frost and the fog divide the air,
And the day is dead at his breaking-forth,
Sirs, it is bitter beneath the Bear!

Far to Southward they wheel and glance,
The million molten spears of morn-

The spears of our deliverance

That shine on the house where we were born.

Flying-fish about our bows,

Flying sea-fires in our wake:

This is the road to our Father's House,

Whither we go for our soul's sake!

SONG OF THE WISE CHILDREN

We have forfeited our birthright,

We have forsaken all things meet; We have forgotten the look of light, We have forgotten the scent of heat.

They that walk with shaded brows,
Year by year in a shining land,
They be men of our Father's House,
They shall receive us and understand.

We shall go back by boltless doors,

To the life unaltered our childhood knew

To the naked feet on the cool, dark floors,

And the high-ceiled rooms that the Trade blows through:

To the trumpet-flowers and the moon beyond,
And the tree-toad's chorus drowning all-

And the lisp of the split banana-frond

That talked us to sleep when we were small.

The wayside magic, the threshold spells,

Shall soon undo what the North has done

Because of the sights and the sounds and the smells That ran with our youth in the eye of the sun!

SONG OF THE WISE CHILDREN

And Earth accepting shall ask no vows,

Nor the Sea our love nor our lover the Sky. When we return to our Father's House

Only the English shall wonder why!