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LogoCall of the WILD

ON THE HILLS


Buffet on sweet buffet, the wild wood came,

Like a green wave or a green flame,

With melodies

And delicate fragrances

And the secret souls of the watching trees.


Colour on grave colour sleeps the ancient moor,

with its blue roof and its purple floor -

Where small birds fly

With merry, pencilled eye,

And like great gods the stately clouds go by.


Mary Webb 1946


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