Excerpt from Songs of the UplandsGlorious uplands Sweeping to Skyward, Ribbed with the seams of Ancient furrows, Wind-laid, rush-tuf ted, Ridging the barrow, Ploughed there of old time By some grave husbandman, Sturdy Piers Plowman, Our foremost father, Who, as he mounted the Lea with his oxen, Here haply breathed a space, Gazed' on the welkin, Down in the west there Watched the sun setting, Then slowly nightwards, Stallwards he drove them, He...
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