We who were born
In country places
Far from cities
And shifting faces,
We have a birthright
No man can sell
And a secret joy
No man can tell.
For we are kindred
To lordly things:
The wild duck's flight
And the wild owl's wings,
The pike and the salmon,
The bull and the horse,
The curlew's cry
And the smell of gorse.
Pride of trees,
Swiftness of streams,
Magic of frost
Have shaped our dreams.
No baser vision
Their spirit fills
Who walk by right
On the naked hills.
~ Eiluned Lewis
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