The Defenders

The Defenders written by John Drinkwater

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His wage of rest at nightfall still
    He takes, who sixty years has known
Of ploughing over Cotsall hill
    And keeping trim the Cotsall stone.

He meditates the dusk, and sees
    Folds of his wonted shepherdings
And lands of stubble and tall trees
    Becoming insubstantial things.

And does he see on Cotsall hill -
    Thrown even to the central shire -
The funnelled shapes forbidding still
    The stranger from his cottage fire?

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