There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks: br There’s a beach asleep and drear: br There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea. br There are sunken trampled graves: br And a little rotting pier: br And winding paths that wind unceasingly. br There’s a torn and silent valley: br There’s a tiny rivulet br With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth. br There are lines of buried bones: br There’s an unpaid waiting debt : br There’s a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.