We who where born in country places,
Far from cities and shifting places
We have a birthright no man can sell
And a secret joy no man can tell.
For we are kindred to Lordly Things
The wild ducks flight an the white owl's wings:
To pike and salmon: to bull and horse
The curlew's cry and the smell of gorse
Pride of trees, swiftness of streams
Magic of frost have shaped our dreams
No baser vision their spirit fills
Who walk by right on the naked hills.