Ah God! to see the branches stirtAcross the moon at Grantchester!tTo smell the thrilling-sweet and rottentUnforgettable, unforgottentRiver-smell, and hear the breezet Sobbing in the little trees.tSay, do the elm-clumps greatly standtStill guardians of that holy land?tThe chestnuts shade, in reverend dream,tThe yet unacademic streamIs dawn a secret shy and coldtAnadyomene, silver-gold?tAnd sunset still a golden seatFrom Haslingfield to Madingley?tAnd after, ere the night is born,Do hares come out about the corn?tOh, is the water sweet and cool,tGentle and brown, above the pool?tAnd laughs the immortal river stilltUnder the mill, under the mill?Say, is there Beauty yet to find?tAnd Certainty? and Quiet kind?tDeep meadows yet, for to forgettThe lies, and truths, and pain?… oh! yettStands the Church clock at ten to three?tAnd is there honey still for tea?
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