Heaven To Me's A Fair Blue Stretch

It's A Warm Wind, The West Wind, Full Of Birds' Cries.

God Warms His Hands At Man's Heart When He Prays.

From '41 To '51i Was My Folk's Contrary Son;i Bit My Father's Hand Right Throughand Broke My Mother's Heart In Two.

So Death Obscures Your Gentle Form, So Memory Strives To Make The Darkness Bright; And, In That Heap Of Rocks, Your Body Lies, Part Of The Island Till The Planet Ends, My Gentle Comrade, Beautiful And Wise, Part Of This Crag This Bitter Surge Offends, While I, Who Pass, A Little Obscure Thing, War With This Force, And Breathe, And Am Its King.

I Have Seen Dawn And Sunset On Moors And Windy Hills Coming In Solemn Beauty Like Slow Old Tunes Of Spain.