(_A soliloquy in view of approaching leave._)
On Mendip, on Mendip, the gorse is amber now,
And dandelion torches attend the march of May;
We Mendip men that coaxed the team and drove the sullen plough,
No more we shout on Mendip,
Dear golden, glowing Mendip,
Oh, many leagues from Mendip is the land we cleave to-day.
On Mendip, on Mendip, the willow-creeper sings,
And bright birds and blackbirds and half-a-hundred more;
The cuckoo's busy boasting of the trouble that he brings
To feathered folk on Mendip--
And soon I speed to Mendip
To nest awhile in Mendip with its fairy-wonder store.
To Mendip, to Mendip, where boom the happy bells
From Blagdon and Burrington and Glastonbury town,
I'm coming by the willow-pools that fringe the road to Wells;
Oh, soon to breezy Mendip,
To many-coloured Mendip,
I'm coming back to Mendip just to wander up and down!
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