OVER the English trees and the English meadows br Twilight is falling clear, br But my heart walks far in the homeless winds and the shadows br For those who are not here. br br Youth and pleasure and peace and the strong flesh clothing br The freeman's soul, they gave; br Beauty they gave for a scar and honour for loathing br And life for a living grave. br br But not of the least they gave was the English, mellow br Sunlight on beech leaves spread, br And the Squirrel flickering earthward to find his fellow br Where the chestnut husks lie dead. br br And not of the least they lost was the calm star climbing br Over the elm tree's height, br And the heron high in the mists, and the hoar frost riming br The ivy leaves at night. br br Night and the early moon, and the dead leaves burning, br And England secure and free br By the price of uncounted heartbreaks toward her turning br Across her kindred sea. br br Night, and the smell of the earth, and the blue reek lifting br Straight as a prayer from the plain. br Loose them, O Sleep, to the sun and the beech leaves drifting br And the stubble fields again! br br Night, and the robins still, and the long smoke folding, br The fallow on either hand, br And the spirits of those who sorrow afar, beholding br In dreams their native land.