On Reading Ballads
We lay upon a flowery hill
Close by the railway lines,
Apollo dusted gold on us
Between the windy pines.
We watched the London trains go by
Full of the weary folk,
Who travelled back that Sunday night
To six more days of smoke.
They stared out at the whirling fields,
And when they saw us two,
They turned their heads to follow us
Till we were snatched from view.
The year was at the summer’s spring
When grass grows fresh and long,
And flowers are more in bud than bloom,
And cuckoos slacken song.
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