"... So I'll walk where I will over mountain and hill
And I'll lie where the bracken is deep
I belong to the mountains, the clear running fountains
Where the grey rocks lie ragged and steep
I've seen the white hare in the gullys
And the curlew fly high overhead
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead."
It's good to ramble :-) I wonder when the countryside became 'another place' to us. To visit if lucky but not belong. Bit sad really.
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