Interwoen
THE broad, kind countryside:
The grown trees, and the tangled hedges,' The quiet brook ; the pool, with sedges
Knee-deep in water: and the stucco'd pride
Of a great mansion ; with the modest grace
The stone-built dower-house wears- upon its face,
All this is England. The rain-washed limpid sky, The small hedge-skimming birds, that fly In modest panoply of dun and brown.
The hot, tight town Sprawls into this beauty: interweaves Brickwork and paving with the plash of leaves, Busy and sated with its own affairs, Yet steals the trees to deck its squares And so entwined, so far, and yet sc. near, The countryside must share the great town's fear And die amidst its greenery, as the town Will die in rubble, flay the last bombs down. And maybe men will emulate their sires,
Re-build their city for the nation's crown—
But who could heal our outraged English shires ?
HILDA BODEN.
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