(Save Framilode, who can vie?),
To her I’ll go when day has dwindled
And the light low in the sky;
And my troubles shall fall from me, a bundle,
And youth come back again,
Seeing the smoke of her houses and hearing
The talk of Minsterworth men.
I’ll drink my perry and sing my song
Of home and home again,
Pierced with the old miraculous pleasure