A nation of hayricks spotting the green solace
          Of grass,
And thrones of thatch ruling a yellow kingdom
          Of barley.
In the green lands, the white nation of sheep.
          And the woodlands,
Red, the delicate tribes of roebuck, doe
          And fawn.
A senate of steeples guarding the slaty and gabled
          Shires,
While aloof the elder houses hold a secret
          Sceptre.
To the north, a wall touching two stone-grey reaches
          Of water;
A circle of stones; then to the south a chalk-white
          Stallion.
To the north, the wireless towers upon the cliff.
          Southward
The powerhouse, and monstrous constellations
          Of cities.
To the north, the pilgrims along the holy roads
          To Walsingham,
And southward, the road to Shottery, shining
          With daisies.
Over the castle of Warwick frightened birds
          Are fleeing,
And on the bridge, faces upturned to a roaring
          Falcon.