Train Journey

I came again, whither I had dreamt
of dearly, Hills of my child's days, changed by memory and chance,
And I no longer a child, a stranger nearly,
Unknown at the first glance.

I came again, and all morning long a rain
Had painted the land in a rainbow, and I was glad,
Climbing the valley slowly in the old red train
Climbing a slope spring-clad.

I came, and found the glint of yellow gorse had grown
Along the cuttings; and over the hedges high
The strange snow beauty of a white hawthorn was thrown
Beauty to die.

I came again seeking—the hour before the dusk's half-gloom
To find in the fields the cattle gathered round the old beech
—"Not a vanished childhood, but a fuller bloom"—
Listen, for the hills preach.

—Elizabeth Entrican.