The larch, the birch and the eagle fern
And granite grey;
The cry of the kine and the song of the burn
Down Dartmoor way.
A league-long tramp to a lifted stone
Under the sky;
Long lustral hours superbly alone—
My soul and I.
For you be the kingdoms that you list,
The seas you will;
And mine a white rainbow in the mist
On a heather hill.
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