by Rudyard Kipling (Author)

Puck's Song See you the dimpled track that runs, All hollow through the wheat? O that was where they hauled the guns That smote King Philip's fleet See you our little mill that clacks, So busy by the brook? She has ground her corn and paid her tax Ever since Domesday Book. See you our stilly woods of oak, And the dread ditch beside? O that was where the Saxons broke, On the day that Harold died

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